


The King and the Merchant's Daughter

by aphreal



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-30 04:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3923461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphreal/pseuds/aphreal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sidequal to SignCherie's fic Teagan's Chance.<br/>Now that Meriana Cousland and Teagan are happily married and Anora has declared the royal marriage only for show, Alistair’s pretty sure he’d like love and happiness of his own, in the form of a royal mistress. He even sort of has one picked out, in the form of Meriana's cousin, Alexia. Now how does he make that a reality?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Proper Introduction

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Teagan's Chance](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3377093) by [CherieoftheDragons (SignCherie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignCherie/pseuds/CherieoftheDragons), [SignCherie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SignCherie/pseuds/SignCherie). 



> Huge thanks go to my usual suspects: SignCherie for letting me play in her sandbox (and for including my Alexia in her wonderful story) and Chenria for letting both of us borrow Meri (and run rampant through her canon). Fandom would be a lot less fun without the two of you putting random ideas into my head. 
> 
> What started out as a missing moment from Cherie's fic has turned into a longer exploration of Alistair and Alexia's relationship in Chen's canon setting.
> 
> For anyone trying to piece things together, chapter 1 of this story takes place between chapters 7 and 8 of TC, and chapter 2 is set during TC chapter 11.

_To Lady Meriana Cousland Guerrin, Hero of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, and most importantly, cousin:_

_Dearest Meri,_

_You're going to hear some things said about me. Maybe you already have, the rumors outpacing my explanation. Maker knows that gossip travels faster than truth. I can't predict how the stories will twist and change by the time they reach you, but I can guess the core of what you'll hear:_  
Alexia Cousland is a foreign temptress come to seduce the king away from his wife, to set herself up as royal mistress and manipulate the court to weaken Ferelden from within.  
Or perhaps she’s simply a Marcher whore working her way into the king's bed for her own profit. 

_The truth is both somewhat more complicated and perfectly simple. I love him._

_In the months since I came to court, I fell in love with Alistair. Not the king of Ferelden. Alistair. I love him for himself, the sweet, stubborn, wonderful man underneath all the uncomfortable trappings of royalty that suit him far better than he’ll ever realize. I don't care about his title or power, the throne and the kingdom. I would gladly be his if he had truly been the hapless guardsman I met on the way to the practice yards my second day in Denerim._

\------------

Alexia frowned critically at her reflection in the glass, then nodded. It should do. The fashions weren’t too different between Ferelden and the Marches. Maker be praised her long-lost relatives weren’t living in Orlais… 

Of course, that didn’t mean her gown and hair were suitable for court. Just because she could dress appropriately for the merchant’s guild didn’t mean she would fit in here. Would Meri believe her if she pleaded travel weariness as an excuse to hide in her rooms and sneak off to the practice yards? No, probably not for a third day in a row. That excuse had to be wearing thin by now. 

She never should have let Fergus talk her into going to Denerim in the first place. Alexia had been perfectly comfortable in Highever, helping coordinate the logistics of restoring the keep and community to what it had been before the war. She should have stayed there instead of agreeing to the insane plan of sending her to visit Meri at court. 

When Meri arrived at the door to her guest quarters to ask if she was ready, Alexia had her argument all prepared. “Couldn’t I go back to Highever instead? There’s so much to be done, and I’m sure Fergus could use the help. That’s why I came in the first place, after all.” 

Meri shook her head with a bright smile. “Fergus wouldn’t have suggested you come visit me if he couldn’t spare you for a bit. I’m sure things are fine, and the work will wait. Besides, you can’t leave court without being formally presented; someone will decide you’re a Marcher spy.” 

Alexia groaned. 

“You’re only nervous because you don’t know anyone.” Meri took her arm and drew her out into the hallway. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to a few people so you aren’t stuck sitting around bored when I’m busy all day.” 

\-------

Alistair stalked through the back hallways on his way to meet the Antivan ambassador. He’d accepted the meeting as inevitable, but that didn’t mean he had to look forward to it. 

Turning a corner, he caught sight of Meri at the far end of the corridor; no matter how far away, he’d always know it was her. Another gowned woman walked at her side, so he resisted the urge to jog down to meet her. He ought to maintain the royal dignity in case Meri’s guest was important; she’d scold him later if he made himself look ridiculous in front of visiting nobility. And he hated to disappoint her any more than necessary. 

As they got closer, he recognized the woman with Meri as Alexia. Maybe he’d finally find out what she was doing at court. She’d mentioned being from a merchant family, so maybe the trade negotiations. One set or another of them. 

A smile spread across Meri’s face that warmed something in his chest, and she nodded to Alexia. “Here’s a good starting place.” 

Alexia ought to look smaller not wearing full plate, but Alistair wasn’t sure she did. Especially next to Meri. Alexia wore a gown as comfortably as she had armor, but she would never be as graceful or slender as Meri. Alexia stood several inches taller and had the shoulders and arms she’d need to swing that greatsword around effectively. 

Meri’s smile drew his attention back. “I’m glad we ran into you. Alistair, let me present my cousin Alexia Cousland, visiting from the Free Marches. Alexia, may I introduce His Majesty Alistair Theirin, King of Ferelden.” 

Normally, he would chide Meri for using so many titles, but at the moment his brain was stuck on the word _cousin_. He stared back and forth between the two of them, searching for similarities. Was a family resemblance what had drawn him to Alexia the other morning? His gaze latched onto her eyes, grey and wide with surprise, nothing like Meri’s bright emerald. 

Alexia dipped into a proper curtsey, mostly steady despite the clear shock on her face. “Your Majesty.” Her voice, so steady and sure in the practice yard, had become a barely audible murmur. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Meri’s cousin?” 

Alexia’s bowed head snapped up, and her eyebrows lifted. “That was not the biggest omission in our first introduction. Your Majesty.” 

She delivered his title with a note of reproach that Alistair found he liked far more than her earlier deference. 

“You two have met?” Meri’s brow furrowed as she stared between the two of them. 

Alexia rose the rest of the way from her curtsey, turning to her cousin. Maker, her cousin. 

“He told me he was a guard.” 

“I did not!” Alistair appealed to Meri in defense. “I never said that.” 

Alexia turned to him, her eyes flashing and mouth half open to retort. Then she paused, running the events in her memory. Her lips pursed into a wry smirk and she gave him what he could only describe as an amused glare. 

Looking back at Meri, Alexia corrected herself. “He let me assume he was a guard.” 

Blinking, Meri frowned at the byplay. “What exactly happened here?” 

“Sparring practice.” 

“She gave me bruises.” 

While Meri tried to sort out their simultaneous answers, Alexia turned that grin back at him. “If you don’t want to get bruised, wear heavier armor next time you challenge someone who fights with a greatsword.” 

Alistair would have pointed out that he hadn’t known about her oversized sword when he invited himself along to her practice session, but before he opened his mouth, she blanched and turned to Meri with a wide-eyed look of horror. 

“I wouldn’t have hit him if I knew he was the king!” 

“See? That’s why I don’t like telling people.” Alistair folded his arms to emphasize his point in this ongoing argument Meri always seemed to be winning. 

Laughing, Meri waved her hands to quiet them both. “I was planning to show Alexia around and introduce her to people this afternoon, but it sounds like she’s doing better at making new acquaintances than I realized. Maybe I should leave you to meeting people on your own, cousin.” 

“Only if you want her to injure them.” Alistair grinned with an exaggerated wince as he unfolded his arms. 

Alexia’s eyes went immediately to his right shoulder, the site of the most impressive bruise he’d picked up in their sparring match, and her lips pinched together guiltily. She remembered exactly where she’d hit him? 

Meri laughed again. “All right. Maybe we’ll stay with the original plan of proper, polite introductions. And you,” she poked Alistair in the bicep, drawing a real wince this time, “are late for a meeting with the Antivan ambassador.” 

Alistair sighed, remembering his earlier destination. “I would have been on time if someone hadn’t stopped me for a very important conversation.” 

“Go on, then. You’ll have plenty of time to fight with my cousin later.” 

Alistair laughed, setting off down the corridor again. He tossed back a final word over his shoulder. “Just warn me when she’s going to be armed.” 

\-----

Alexia watched him go, and once he was safely around a corner and out of sight, she dropped her head into her hands. “ _Now_ can I please go back to Highever?” 

“Not a chance.” Meri sounded entirely too cheerful, but then she turned serious. “You have to stay at least until the wedding. Since Fergus isn’t coming, I need someone here who’s family.” 

Alexia instantly felt guilty. How could she even think of leaving Meri when a distant cousin she barely knew was the closest thing she had to family to hold onto. “Of course I’ll stay for your wedding.” She grinned, hoping to distract Meri from her darkening thoughts. “But I’m blaming you if I get arrested for treason because I attacked the king with a greatsword.” 

“Blaming me?” Meri raised a hand to her chest in exaggerated shock. “I didn’t tell you to hit him.” 

“I’m disappointed in your lack of family loyalty.” Alexia responded with a mock sigh. “Do you think I can claim to be exempt because I’m a Marcher? Don’t you have to be a subject of a kingdom to commit treason?” 

“I’m not sure attempted assassination at the behest of a foreign power is a better charge.” Meri laughed at Alexia’s genuine expression of concern. “Don’t worry about it, Lexia. Alistair would never abuse his power like that. Besides, I think he kind of likes you.” 

He liked her? Alexia couldn’t believe a king would think much of anything of her. Of course, she’d liked him, too… at least as a guardsman she could talk and spar and joke with. A king, though? She didn’t even know how she was supposed to talk to royalty. But taunts about poor armor quality probably weren’t anywhere on the list of approved conversation. She’d been insufferably disrespectful, and Meri thought he might like her? 

Alexia regarded her cousin skeptically, then shrugged. “Well, if hitting people with a greatsword is the way to make friends in Denerim, maybe I’m better prepared here than I thought.” 

Laughing, Meri tilted her head for them to continue their interrupted walk. “Please don’t try that method with any of the arlessas we’re going to meet this afternoon.” She thought for a moment. “Except possibly Lady Sophia. She was a friend of mother’s and might actually welcome it.”


	2. A First Dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What started out as a missing moment from Cherie's fic has turned into a longer exploration of Alistair and Alexia's relationship in Chen's canon setting.  
> Anyone who originally read the first chapter as "A Proper Introduction" may want to revisit it now that it's been updated with a fragment of Alexia's letter at the beginning, something that will tie the chapters together as we go.

_This isn’t something I planned, no matter what the gossips may insinuate. You’ve known him longer than I have, Meri, so I’m sure you’ll understand how Alistair can find his way into your life – into your heart – without you realizing it’s happening until it’s far too late to pretend you have any choice in the matter._

_Or perhaps that’s just me._

_I admit I was drawn to him immediately. How couldn’t I be? He’s funny, kind, charming in an understated way. Reassuring his awkwardness put me at ease. In a city full of strangers, I found an unexpected welcome._

_But I was looking for a sparring partner, not a romance. The most I would have dared to hope for from this warm, playful guardsman was a new friend. Later, when you told me who he truly was, even that much seemed far too presumptuous. I thought myself lucky beyond measure that a nobody like me would be worthy of his time. I had no idea he felt so out of place, so lonely, as well. That perhaps he might need me just as much._

\-----------

Alistair scanned the crowd, searching for the distinctive Cousland blue Meri had requested for her bridesmaids’ dresses. The whirling couples on the dance floor made it hard to see details across the room, but he eventually caught sight of Alexia, her blond hair almost as bright as the gold lace edging her gown. She didn’t look as beautiful as Meri – that probably wasn’t allowed, a bridesmaid attempting to outshine the bride, and Alexia had better manners than to try regardless – but when she met his eyes and smiled, he thought she came close.

People kept slowing him down as he tried to skirt the edges of the ballroom to reach her, all of them wanting to ask for a favor or flatter him or just be able to say they’d shaken the king’s hand. Which was sweating. Stupidly, pointlessly sweating. He shouldn’t be nervous about Alexia. They spent nearly every afternoon together in the practice yards, when royal obligations and, more recently, wedding planning allowed. Alistair couldn’t remember ever feeling intimidated by Alexia trying to take his head off with a greatsword – impressed that she could swing the massive thing, sure, but not intimidated – but when he finally got through the crowd to her side, his wits deserted him entirely as he tried to ask her to dance.

Eventually he managed to stammer out something semi-coherent, and Alexia dropped into a curtsey, her head tilted to one side. Her eyes looked past him for a long moment before she rose and met his gaze with a dazzling smile that caused his breath to catch. “I would be delighted to dance with you, your majesty.”

Alistair stretched out a hand to her and hoped that she didn’t notice how clammy it felt. “Don’t be so sure. Meri says that a lady shouldn’t be willing to dance with me unless she secretly hates her shoes. Your feet may regret you agreeing to this.”

Alexia laughed, folding her hand around his more securely in answer. “I doubt you’re that bad.” A stern look cut him off before he could challenge her unwarranted faith in him. “But even if you are, I’ve gotten bruised ribs from sparring with you, and that hasn’t scared me off. Do you really think I’m going to draw the line at a few bruised toes?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Alistair grinned, marveling at this woman, trying to merge the image of an armored warrior knocking him off his feet with the elegant lady who stepped into his arms in a perfect dance hold. Her free hand settled firmly onto his shoulder, and he tried to ignore how intimately his arm wrapped around her waist. Which of course meant that was all he could think about. The orchestra hadn’t even played the first bar yet, and he’d already forgotten what he was supposed to do with his feet.

Alistair didn’t even try to talk once they started dancing. It was all he could do not to get completely distracted by the woman in his arms. The candlelight reflecting on her hair, the curve of her waist under his hand, the floral scent coming from her skin – not Meri’s lilac, something delicate and sweet, a startling contrast to her ferocity in the sparring ring. In the face of this much distraction, he could focus on controlling his feet or his words, but attempting to use both at once would only lead to embarrassing himself one way or another.

Of course, Alexia had no such concerns. After a handful of bars, she tilted her head with a warm, encouraging smile. “See? You’re better at this than you think.”

Startled, Alistair realized she was right. His steps moved in time with the music, he hadn’t stumbled them into the path of any other dancers, and her shoes remained untrodden upon. There had to be an explanation. A moment later, he worked it out with a rueful laugh. “That’s because you’re leading.”

Alexia’s answering grin looked slightly guilty. “It’s not intentional. Blame my father.”

“Your father taught you to dance better than royalty?” Alistair smirked, raising an eyebrow.

Alexia giggled. Maker’s breath, the woman who spent her free time battering him with a three-foot piece of metal _giggled_. “My father can’t dance. At all. Not like you.” She tapped him on the shoulder sternly. “The way you move in combat, you could dance if you’d let yourself relax. Father, on the other hand, entirely lacks a sense of rhythm.” She grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Mother and I have been covering for him for years. She’s the one from a merchant family, raised at guild functions like my brother and I. Dancing and keeping up appearances are skills we learned as children.” Her smile softened, fond amusement. “Father, though, he married into it all. He may have the Cousland name, but he wasn’t raised noble. He’d never danced a step in his life before marrying Mother.”

“And instead of teaching him to dance, she taught you to trick people into thinking he could dance.” Alistair narrowed his eyes. “Is there some law in Hercinia banning straightforward solutions?”

Alexia laughed, head falling back and exposing the line of her throat. Alistair’s steps faltered for a moment, and she quickly recovered for both of them, a smile lingering on her lips as she shook her head, chuckling. “If you’d ever been there, you wouldn’t have to ask.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Of course not. I’m Hercinian.”

Her impish grin drew a laugh from him, and warmth spread in his chest as her eyes met his, shining with mirth at the shared joke. If he were bolder, he might have leaned down to kiss her. But king or not, he was still him, so instead he blushed at the thought and nearly tripped over his own feet, handily covering one potential embarrassment with another.

Alexia’s grip on his shoulder and hand tightened as she steered them firmly until he relaxed enough to fall back into the easy pattern of dancing with her. Smiling, she loosened her hold and stroked her fingers over his shoulder, smoothing out any creases in the fabric of his jacket and causing another flush that he could feel warming his ears.

“Regardless, I have years of practice at leading without looking like it. With a full enough skirt and a trusting partner, no one can tell.” She grinned conspiratorially. “Everyone just thinks Father’s terribly loyal to Mother, not willing to dance with anyone outside of the family. It’s the Fereldan blood, you know. Everyone in this country is as fiercely loyal as a mabari.”

Was he supposed to be offended by that? He’d always rather liked warhounds. “I’ve met a lot of mabari who are better people than some Orlesian lords and ladies.”

Another of those full-throated laughs that tilted her head back and made him bite his tongue to resist the urge to do something stupid. When she caught her breath, her cheeks were flushed pink and her eyes sparkled merrily. “How very Fereldan of you! No wonder they let you run the country.”

“That’s what I thought, at first. But it turns out there’s more to being king than training mabari and sneering at Orlesians.” He shrugged with an exaggerated sigh. “For one thing, people keep expecting me to know how to dance.”

Alexia’s lips pursed into a thoughtful moue, eyes wide with false innocence. “You seem to be doing perfectly well at it. I don’t see what the problem is.”

Alistair realized that she was leading him through more complicated footwork than when he’d originally asked her to dance. A new song must have started while they were talking, and she’d made the transition so fluidly that he hadn’t even noticed. “And I think I need to keep you around at all of these formal events to make me look good.”

No other motive whatsoever.

Alexia made a tsking sound and tapped him on the shoulder. “Or you could learn to dance properly.”

“Like your father?”

She huffed a breath out in amused annoyance. “I told you, my father’s hopeless. But you could learn.” Her head tilted, brows lowering in thought. A loose tendril of hair slid across her cheek, and he resisted the urge to touch it. “I could teach you. In return for the combat lessons you’ve been giving me.”

Is that what she thought their afternoon sparring sessions were, combat lessons? If anyone had asked Alistair, he would have described them as sanity breaks, a chance to get away from all of his responsibilities and do something simple and good for an hour. She hardly owed him for that. But if a beautiful woman wanted to spend time with him, standing close, touching one another, smiling and laughing and not wearing armor for once… who was he to argue?

“I’d enjoy that. If it won’t be too inconvenient.”

“Not at all.” She shook her head slowly with a look of fond amusement he was coming to treasure. “Because firstly, I’ll be staying in Denerim for a while after the wedding anyway. Mother asked me to cultivate some contacts in the city, to strengthen her mercantile ties. This is a major port and export/import center, you know. And secondly…” She chuckled. “You’re the king, Alistair. People are supposed to worry about inconveniencing you, not the other way around. I don’t think you’re even capable of inconveniencing anyone; as a humble guest to court, I am entirely at your disposal and await your royal pleasure.”

He felt his cheeks flushing again, despite her guileless smile proving she hadn’t meant that the way he’d wanted to hear it. Entirely innocent words, just like the unconscious grace in the way she tilted her head to expose that smooth neck, the unintended invitation in the curve of her lips, the sway of her hip under his hand as she guided them through the dance steps. Maker’s breath, she was either entirely oblivious to the effect she had on him or the most skilled seductress he’d ever met.

Those bright grey eyes met his, open and warm with friendship, and Alistair knew there was no deceit in her. With Alexia, what she showed him was precisely what was truly there. A kind, genuine friend. He had too few of those to even think of wasting one, and if he spent too much of his time with her dreaming and longing for things that weren’t going to happen… Well, that would be nothing new.

He forced a lopsided grin onto his face and responded. “In that case, dance lessons – with you – sound wonderful. I accept.”


	3. An Unexpected Visitor

_There are vicious rumors directed at him, too, of course. It’s all covert, whispered slander, less open than what they’re saying about me; he is the king, after all. It’s not worth repeating any of it here. You know him well enough not to believe a word of it, to dismiss anyone trying to paint him as manipulative or cruel. The very thought is laughable. Alistair can hardly manage a polite social fiction to visiting diplomats; he could never carry out the sort of deception they imagine. I don’t need to tell you that._

 

Alexia hurried through the halls of the palace, walking briskly along the stone corridors. She smiled and nodded politely at familiar faces among the servants, rather than stopping to greet them. She couldn’t spare the time for even the briefest of pleasantries. This morning’s meetings had taken for longer than she’d expected, hours of negotiating with a dwarven merchant determined to wring every last drop of profit out of their trade deal. If her mother hadn’t been so set on expanding to meet the growing demand in the Free Marches for dwarven goods, Alexia would probably have walked away after the first hour.

But she’d persevered, for her mother’s sake, and they’d finally reached an agreement after she included a crate of fine Starkhaven wines in her offer. Alexia could have kicked herself for not realizing sooner that the sour grimace hidden behind that well-groomed beard was directed at the too-light Orlesian red rather than her. If she’d thought to tempt him with wine sooner, the interminable meeting would have finished at least a half hour earlier. And then she wouldn’t be rushing through the castle at a faster-than-seemly pace, already late to see Alistair.

As soon as she reached her guest room, Alexia dropped the papers from the meeting unceremoniously on her desk to be dealt with later. She leaned over to pull off the sturdy shoes she’d worn to trek across the city, trading them out for soft slippers. This morning’s note – Alistair sent her a daily update on his schedule, usually including a plan to meet in the afternoon – had requested dancing lessons rather than sparring practice, so thankfully she didn’t need to do anything about her gown or hair. Dancing shoes were much easier to change into than armor.

After a quick glance in the mirror, Alexia darted back out of her room, rushing through the halls towards the king’s day rooms. It took a force of will to keep from running. Standing up royalty had to be a horrible breach of protocol. Maker’s blood, she had kept the king of Ferelden waiting while she argued with a dwarf about wine. Alistair had so little time to call his own, but he chose to spend it with her, and she was wasting precious minutes of it. Unforgivable.

When she reached the receiving room, the heavy wooden door stood ajar. Alexia slipped in without knocking, smoothing her skirt and trying to catch her breath. “I’m so sorry I’m late, your majesty. I didn’t expect it would…” Her hasty apology died off when she saw Alistair seated on a padded bench, deep in conversation with another woman. Alexia faltered, uncertain. She didn’t think she’d been so late he would have made other plans.

The dark-haired woman turned to face her, and a relieved smile spread across Alexia’s face at the sight of her cousin. “Meri! I thought you weren’t going to be here until next week.”

“We made better time on the roads than I expected.” Meri rose to grip her in an enthusiastic hug, which Alexia returned gladly before pulling back.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I can leave.” Alexia looked past Meri to smile at Alistair. “You’ve been making good enough progress that skipping a day’s lesson shouldn’t cause irreparable damage.”

“Lessons?” Meri raised an eyebrow, lips quirking into a mischievous grin as she glanced between the two of them, waiting for an explanation.

Alistair rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, grinning bashfully. “Lexia’s been teaching me to dance.” A lopsided grin. “She decided at your wedding reception that someone needed to.”

Meri smirked, tilting her head with a playful grin. “You’re braver than I am, cousin. And probably more patient, as well.”

“Not at all.” Alexia shook her head, folding her arms over her chest. “I meant it when I said Alistair’s been making good progress. You should let him show you what he’s learned. I bet he’ll surprise you.”

Meri blinked, startled by Alexia’s vehemence. Her eyes narrowed for a moment before flicking over to Alistair, a grin tugging at her lips. “No, thank you. I happen to like these shoes.”

Alistair leaned back on the bench, stretching his legs out in front of him and waving one arm in a vague, expansive gesture. “See? What did I tell you about Meri and her shoes?”

Alexia frowned, feeling the need to defend him, even from good-natured criticism. Alistair had worked hard to learn something he’d been convinced he couldn’t do. He had so little faith in himself that he deserved the chance to be proud of this accomplishment, however trivial it might be.

But Alexia held her tongue. Meri and Alistair’s friendship long predated her knowing either of them, and it was hardly her place to chide her cousin for not taking enough care with his feelings. Especially when he didn’t seem bothered by it.

Unaware of her struggle, Alistair continued blithely, continuing to tease Meri about her shoes. “I always thought Lel had something to do with it, encouraging an unhealthy Orlesian obsession with fashion.”

Meri pursed her lips in mock offense. “After spending the better part of two years trekking across the entire country through mud and darkspawn blood and goodness knows what, I have earned the right to wear clothing – and shoes! – that I enjoy.” She placed her hands on her hips. “I didn’t end a Blight to wear ugly shoes.”

Alistair laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “And I’d never take that away from you. I’ll stay over here, where I won’t endanger your precious footwear. No dancing, I promise.”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Meri tapped a finger thoughtfully against her lips. “If my cousin can work miracles, I wouldn’t mind seeing a demonstration.” Raising her eyebrows, she turned to Alexia with a bright smile. “You came here to dance, so you should dance.”

Meri crossed back to sit on the bench, crowding Alistair and nudging him with her elbow until he got up. Grinning broadly, she gestured to the open space in the center of the room. “Show me what you two have been up to.”

Alexia regarded her cousin warily, sensing a trap, although she couldn’t imagine what form it might take. Maybe Meri thought she’d been flattering Alistair and expected to catch her in the lie when he couldn’t live up to her descriptions. If so, she would be disappointed.

Alistair cast a suspicious look at Meri, who smiled back sweetly, looking far too innocent. Then he huffed out a breath and extended his hand to Alexia with an ironic half smile. “Care to dance?”

“Of course. Whenever you’d like.” She responded sincerely, taking his offered hand and stepping in close. As Alistair put his other hand at the small of her back, unusually tentative, Alexia smoothed her hand comfortingly over his broad shoulder, leaning in to speak softly. “Don’t worry. You know what you’re doing, and even if you make a mistake, I’ll make sure it doesn’t show. That’s what you keep me around for, remember?”

He laughed, a startled, awkward chuckle that sent a tickling rush of breath across her cheek, and a pink flush tinged the tips of his ears. “Right, of course.”

“So trust me.” Alexia straightened back up to a proper dance hold, squeezing his hand in reassurance. “Ready?”

At his nod, Alexia gave him a count in three then stepped into the pattern. Alistair faltered the first few steps when she swept them into a minuet rather than the simpler waltz he had been prepared for. Alexia had deliberately chosen the more challenging style. If Meri wanted to see that he could dance, Alexia would give him a chance to prove it. She smiled reassuringly and squeezed his hand until he found the step and matched her pace. Gradually, she relaxed her grip, letting him have more control over choosing variations in the simple steps. They moved together with an ease born of practice, and Alexia soon switched from an audible count to humming her favorite minuet, the one she’d learned to dance to as a girl. Alistair’s steps grew more fluid as he found his confidence, and she beamed proudly at him.

When she reached the last bar of the song, Alistair surprised her with a spin that was decidedly not part of what they’d practiced. Laughing, Alexia caught her breath and used his arm to steady herself, then turned to curtsey to their audience of one.

Meri clapped at the performance, eyes sparkling and lips curling into a smile that looked far too pleased. “Very nicely done. You’ve definitely been practicing while I was away.”

“And look…” Alexia raised the hem of her skirt to display the toes of her dance slippers. “Entirely unscathed. Not a single footprint.” 

Meri laughed, conceding the point. “I’m convinced.”

“Good.” Alexia nodded briskly. Belatedly, she realized she still had a firm grip on Alistair’s hand, her fingers folded around his as if she still needed the support, her thumb idly brushing over his knuckles. Embarrassed, she squeezed his warm, calloused hand before withdrawing her grip. “Now that I’ve served my purpose, I’ll leave you two to catch up.” 

Before leaving the makeshift dance floor, she gave Alistair a final grin, teasing but also genuinely proud of him. “You’ve done very well, so your harsh taskmistress will grant you a day off. But…” Alexia raised one finger in warning, her attempt at a stern glare doubtless spoiled by a lingering smile. “I expect you to make up for it tomorrow.”

“As my lady commands.” Alistair sketched her a shallow bow, an impudent grin ruining the formality of the gesture.

If Alexia had been holding a fan like the one she’d carried to formal events during the stifling Hercinian summer, she would have flicked him on the shoulder with it, her mother’s usual response to Father’s teasing. But this southerly climate hardly called for fans, so she had to settle for a brief shake of her head and a disdainful sniff, followed by a quick smile to ensure he knew it was in jest. “Tomorrow, then.”

She caught a glimpse of Meri smiling broadly, no doubt amused by their byplay. Alexia turned to her cousin before leaving. “But you’ll come see me sooner than that, won’t you?”

“Of course! As soon as Alistair gets whisked away to deal with the Antivan ambassador” – She ignored his heartfelt groan and mutter of “Don’t even joke about that.” – “or whatever else is on his schedule this afternoon, I’ll find you. We have a lot to catch up on, I think.”

Meri’s thoughtful look followed her out of the room, and Alexia couldn’t help but wonder what that was about. By the time she reached her guest quarters, she’d largely dismissed it. Meri would come by to chat soon enough, and she’d find out what was on her cousin’s mind then. In the meantime, she had work to do.

Settling in at her desk, Alexia opened the folded packet of notes from her morning’s meeting, leafing through the signed agreements and preparing to write her mother a summary of the deal’s highlights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meriana Cousland, as always, belongs to the lovely Chenria and is used with permission. (Which seems almost redundant to mention, given that this entire story takes place in the background of Meri's canon.)


	4. A Pair of Conversations

_Do I need to be writing this letter at all? I almost think none of my news will surprise you very much. Looking back, I wonder if you knew what I felt for him long before I was aware of it myself._

 

As soon as the door closed behind Alexia, Meri pounced. Figuratively for once. “How long has this been going on?” Her emerald eyes sparkled with barely suppressed excitement.

Alistair resisted the urge to groan. He’d seen her connecting the dots in her head since Alexia had walked in the door, and he’d expected this conversation would be coming. That didn’t mean he had to help it along, though. Not when he’d spent so long perfecting the ability to play dumb. “Like she said, she's been teaching me to dance since your wedding reception.”

Meri hummed happily, ignoring his evasion. “I should have known. The way you were always sneaking off to the practice yards to see her. Well, come on.” She stared at him expectantly. “I need details!”

Alistair shrugged. “She fights with a greatsword, and she’s surprisingly good with it. Not quite Oghren’s level of insanity, thank the Maker, but quite skilled for a hobbyist. Which is good, because she’s useless with a shield. I’ve never seen anyone so incapable of defensive fighting. Her idea of defense is knocking the other person down so they can’t hit her. It works far better than it should, honestly.” If he thought about it too long, he could vividly remember impact of slamming into the packed dirt ground. Followed by Alexia’s horrified gasp and repeated apologies. He grinned at the memory. “At this point, she can usually beat me two out of five. And it would probably be dead even if she hadn’t given up half of her practice time to teach me to dance.”

Meri glared at him, her arms folded across her chest. “As fascinating as the tactical assessment might be, I’m not planning to conscript her, so those aren’t the details I was asking for.” She freed one arm to poke his bicep in emphasis. “And you know it.”

“Other details, right…” Alistair nodded, switching gears. “You saw the minuet. We’ve also been working on the waltz, pavane, and a bit of an allemande. Alexia has been threatening to start on the galliard soon, but between you and me, I not sure I’m as ready as she thinks.”

His recitation was cut off by Meri lightly slapping him on the arm. “Not those details either.” Her glare didn’t intimidate him; she couldn’t completely hide her amusement, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards. But, sadly, appreciating his evasion tactics wasn’t the same as letting him get away with it. “I want to hear about what’s going on between the two of you other than sparring and dancing.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.” Alistair sighed. “I don’t have anything to give you.”

Meri frowned. “You said there was someone you had feelings for, and you told Teagan you wanted a relationship with her. That was about Alexia, wasn’t it?”

Of course it had been. Did Meri think there would be someone else, that he had a host of strong, gorgeous women dropping unexpectedly into his life?

Of course, he was royalty now. If he wanted that, he probably could have it. But they’d be there _because_ he was the king, not for any of the reasons he’d want a woman to care about him. He’d rather continue his trend of pining after women who were genuine friends than accept someone who only saw the crown. Besides, the two strong, gorgeous women he already had in his life were enough to drive him crazy. More than that would probably kill him.

“She’s... Yes, I have…” He sighed, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling and take a steadying breath before meeting Meri’s gaze again. “Alexia’s amazing, and I care for her very much. And that’s the end of it. She’s not interested, and I’d rather keep her as a friend than lose what we have.” _I’m getting good at that._

Meri’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure? That she doesn’t return your feelings, I mean.”

“It’s been months, and I’m not exactly suave or subtle. She has to have noticed, and if she wanted to, she’d have said something by now.” He frowned at the way Meri’s lips pressed together, determination shining in her eyes. “Meri, leave it. It’s fine.”

“But if you’d at least talk to her. How can you be sure unless you say something?”

 _The same way I was with you. I've done this before, remember?_ He couldn’t say it, didn’t even really want to. Meri remained his best friend in the world, and there was no point in poking at old scars. But he couldn’t stand to have this conversation, reminding him that he’d found a new way to relive the same mess. He couldn’t talk about this. Not now, not with her.

Meri opened her mouth again, and he knew that he didn’t want to hear whatever was about to come out of it. She’d found her fairy tale marriage and happily ever after, and he wished her every joy from it. It was sweet that she wanted him to have something similar, but that wasn’t always the way things worked.

Alistair cut her off before she could get the first syllable out. “Stop trying to find me a wife, Meri. You already did that, remember?”

She blanched, her face going pale as all of the merriment faded from her eyes, and Alistair immediately regretted the caustic, bitter joke.

“I’m sorry.” Meri sounded so small, unsure of herself. “I thought I was doing the right thing at the time.”

“Meri, don’t… _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He put a hand on her arm and fumbled for words that would get them past this. “I…” Understand? No, he didn’t, not really. “I’m not…” Angry? Except, if he wanted to be honest with himself, a part of him still was.

Alistair took a slow breath, clearing his mind. “It’s all right.” He squeezed her arm gently. “You did your best. Maybe it’s not perfect, but what is?”

Meri shook her head, looking utterly crestfallen. “No. It’s not fair. I have Teagan and everything I could never have dreamed of, and I left you stuck here.”

The tears brimming in her eyes made him want to kick himself, to take back his thoughtless, angry words. He had been stupid and petty, and hurting her like this wasn't what he’d wanted at all. He could fix this. Probably.

“Yes, I’m trapped in a palace with servants and my own personal chef. What a horrible fate you’ve condemned me to. I don’t know how I’ll get through it.”

Meri smiled weakly at his deadpan sarcasm, and some of the tension in his chest eased.

He grinned and pressed the advantage. “I do have one complaint, though.” His mock frown drew a questioning lift of her eyebrows. “You ran off to Redcliffe and left me with all of the work.”

Meri’s smile broadened, but she sounded remarkably earnest when she responded, pressing her hand over his where it still rested on her forearm. “I’ll still visit as much as I’m able to. I promise that I’ll help with whatever I can.”

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Meri groaned, leaning back on the bench and dropping an arm over her face. “I walked into a trap, didn’t I?”

Alistair put on an expression of complete innocence. “A trap? But you offered!”

Meri laughed, lowering her arm. “All right, you win. I might as well be useful since I’m here. I should earn that title of royal advisor.”

Alistair chuckled, relieved to get back on familiar ground. He stood and offering a hand to help her up. “Now that you mention it, I do have a few things set aside that could use your input…”

\------

“Am I interrupting?”

Alexia looked up to see Meri in her doorway, wearing her usual bright smile.

“Of course not. It’s nothing important, just double-checking to make sure I haven’t missed anything Mother wanted from Ferelden.” Alexia tidied away the notes she’d been going over and moved from behind her desk, gesturing to a grouping of comfortable chairs near the fireplace.

“Merchant and dance instructor? You’re certainly keeping busy.”

Alexia laughed, dropping easily into the chair across from Meri’s. “I’m managing not to get bored. But I’d rather hear what you’ve been up to since the wedding. Tell me about Antiva – assuming you saw any of it other than your honeymoon cottage. And since you got back, how are you settling in as arlessa? I want to hear everything. Except the parts I don’t want to know about.”

Meri’s eyes lit up, and Alexia smiled as her cousin began chattering enthusiastically about a lovely cottage on the remote Antivan coast, Teagan, their voyage across the Waking Sea, Teagan, how life in Redcliffe compared to Highever, and a bit more about Teagan. Folding her hands in her lap, Alexia tilted her head and let the outpouring of joy wash over her, absorbing details as she could but mostly just enjoying her cousin’s happiness.

Meri finally ran down, finishing with an embarrassed little laugh. “Sorry. I think I got carried away.”

Alexia shook her head. “Never apologize for being happy.”

“If you’re sure I’m not annoying you…”

“Of course not. It’s good to see you smile so much, and I’d say you’ve more than earned the right to be happy.” 

“Thank you.” Meri gripped her hand briefly. “But enough about me. What’s been going on at court while I was away.”

“Where to start…” Alexia put a finger to her lips, thinking. “Oh, I know. If you haven’t heard this story yet, you definitely should. I’m sure you’re aware that half of Ferelden has been flattering, badgering, or bribing the queen, trying to influence her choice of heir for Gwaren. Well, her short list has gotten one name shorter.”

Meri leaned in, eyes alight at the prospect of court gossip. “Who?”

“The bann of the Storm Coast’s nephew.”

Meri’s eyes widened. “What did he do?”

“Well…” Alexia grinned, anticipating her cousin’s reaction. “It involved a feral nug smuggled into the queen’s formal dinner party.” 

Meri gasped, hands going to her mouth to smother a shriek somewhere between laughter and horror. “No! What happened?”

Alexia’s grin widened as she spun out the tale, giving Meri a rare first-hand account of a disastrous dinner party held to honor visiting guests from Ostwick. Whoever had put the guest list together – presumably a member of the privy council or someone on the queen’s staff – had made the reasonable mistake of thinking a Cousland from Hercinia ranked an invitation to a dinner for Marcher nobility. Alexia hadn’t realized the error until she arrived and saw the small size of the gathering, at which point it would have been rude to leave. The queen had raised a curious eyebrow at her presence, the biggest sign of shock the woman would betray in public, but she hadn’t been turned away. Which gave Alexia a seat at what turned out to be a most memorable night. That dinner had ended at least one nobleman’s political ambitions and left the royal kennels stirred up for a week as the mabari scented after the subterranean rodent running loose through the castle. By the time Alexia finished the story, Meri was wiping away tears of laughter.

Pleased with her narrative success, Alexia followed it up with the highlights of other court news she thought her cousin might appreciate or benefit from knowing about. When she ran out of useful gossip, Alexia asked a question that had been on her mind in recent days. “Have you heard from Fergus recently?” 

“Not for a fortnight.” Meri shook her head, eyes going wide with concern. “Should I have? Has something happened?”

“No, of course not.” Alexia hurried to reassure her. “I was only wondering how the rebuilding is going, if he needs help.”

Meri frowned. “You aren’t thinking of leaving Denerim.”

“It seems like it’s time.” Alexia shrugged. “I’ve secured the last of the deals Mother asked me to arrange, and while I’m enjoying life at court, that’s not really enough reason to stay when I could be doing something useful elsewhere.”

“But you should stay here.” Meri’s protest came quickly. “You said you’re happy at court.”

Alexia smiled at her cousin’s sudden vehemence. “Of course I am. Who wouldn’t enjoy being catapulted from merchant guild meetings into the complexity and luxury of a royal court? But that doesn’t mean I want to become the sort of parasitic hanger-on that lives in the palace to no purpose. I’d like to think I’m better than a leech.”

“You aren’t a leech! That’s ridiculous.” Meri shook her head quickly, seeming agitated. “Lexia, you’re far from useless here. Your mother may not need you in Denerim any longer, but I do. I’m going to be at Redcliffe most of the time, but I can’t lose the pulse of the court, not if I want to be any use to Alistair. I need someone who can give me the sort of report you just did. I need someone I can trust, and your perspective as an outsider gives you a clearer view. Especially with Leliana getting called away by the Divine more often, I need to know I’ll have someone here to be my eyes and ears.”

Alexia frowned at the strained justification. “Surely someone who knows the system would be better placed to gather information for you. Someone who can go places unnoticed, not a foreigner who stands out. While I’m happy to help you however I can – you know I am – I’m a merchant, not a spy. You may need someone at court, but I’m not the best choice.”

Meri bit her lip, eyes flicking down and then back up, seeming to reach a decision. “I may not need you – although that’s still open for debate – but Alistair does.”

“So I should stay at court as the royal dance instructor?” She shook her head, laughing softly. “You saw him earlier. He’s picking it up brilliantly, as long as he’ll let himself relax and stop second-guessing everything he does. Alistair will be prepared for the next ball or gala without any more daily lessons.”

“It’s not only about the dancing. He needs a friend.” Meri’s lips pressed together into a tight line, her expression unusually grave. “That’s the thing I feel most guilty about in moving to Redcliffe, leaving Alistair alone at court. There are so few people who care about him for himself. If you’re here, that makes it easier because I know he has a friend.” Her brow furrowed for a moment, and then she blinked, her voice taking on a note of surprise. “Your lessons with him are every day?”

Alexia shrugged, wondering why it mattered. “Most days, anyway. Sometimes we spar instead. He sends me a note each morning so I know what to come dressed for. Waltzing in armor is more of a challenge than I need.”

Meri smiled at the image before falling into a thoughtful silence. Her unfocused gaze turned to her lap, where she twisted her fingers anxiously.

Finally, Meri spoke again, her voice softer, almost hesitant. “When Alistair was first named king, there was an argument.” She laughed ruefully, looking up at Alexia with a half smile. “If I’m truthful, there were several. But the one that’s important at the moment was with Eamon. He laid out the schedule he expected Alistair to keep as king, days packed full of meetings and audiences and important paperwork. Royal duties from sunup till sundown.” She smiled sadly. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Alistair look more trapped, even when we were literally locked in a cell. He said Eamon was crazy and insisted he’d go crazy, too, if he had to keep that schedule. Eamon chided him about his duty, and Alistair dug his heels in. I’m sure you’ve seen how stubborn he can be.”

Alexia could only laugh, nodding agreement. “In Hercinia, we assume all Fereldans are part mabari, and he hasn't done much to convince me otherwise.”

Meri smiled faintly, resuming her explanation. “Eventually they reached a compromise. Alistair won a brief reprieve, an hour each day held free from the official schedule. So every afternoon, there’s a window blocked out that he can spend however he chooses. He says it’s the only time he can be himself, Alistair rather than the King of Ferelden.”

“And he’s been giving that time to me. Every day.” Alexia stared at her in shock. Somehow, she’d never thought about how much time she was taking out of the king’s busy schedule. Probably because she didn’t think of him as the king when they were together. Which was apparently the point.

Alexia tried to calm her thoughts, to consider this logically. She’d known that Alistair enjoyed spending time with her, hoped that he considered her a friend, but she’d assumed she was one among many. She couldn’t imagine that such a charming, funny, sweet, playful man would need to depend on her for company. But if Meri was right about this – and Meri knew Alistair better than anyone, didn’t she? – then Alexia’s friendship was far more important than she’d imagined, his refuge from the stress of ruling, time with someone who didn’t expect him to be anything but himself. Knowing that he needed her, of course she couldn’t leave him.

Meri stared at her expectantly, and Alexia shook her head, in confusion more than negation. “I… I never realized.”

“And now that you know?”

“I’ll stay. Of course, I’ll stay. If our time together means so much, I would never take that away.” Alexia struggled to put words to her lingering disbelief. “But why me? With an entire court – an entire kingdom – to choose from, why would he care about me? I’m no one special.”

Meri’s lips quirked into a soft smile. “I think if you asked him, he’d say that he isn’t either.”

“He’d be wrong.” Alexia shook her head, unable to accept that. “Royal blood aside, Alistair is an extraordinary person, whether he’s willing to see it or not.”

Meri’s smile broadened. “And maybe he’d say the same about you.”  
Alexia smiled fondly, not bothering to challenge her cousin’s flawed assumption. She suspected that Alistair felt comfortable relaxing around her because she wasn’t Fereldan; it would be easier for him not to be king around someone who wasn’t his subject. That made far more sense than Meri’s suggestion. After all, what would a charming, handsome hero see to admire in a simple merchant?


	5. A Minor Victory

_In my defense, loving Alistair kind of snuck up on me. I never expected to find someone like him. Someone whose arms feel like home, whose smile makes my heart soar. He takes my hand, and I can scarcely breathe around the joy filling my chest. I never realized that one person could make another this happy, that I could love someone so completely, with no room for fear._

_I'm not doing very well at making a case for how long it took me to notice I was in love, am I? All I can say is that he was so far outside of my experience or expectations that I wasn't prepared to understand or accept what I was feeling._

 

Alistair tried to catch his breath as they finished the final steps of a courante, resisting the urge to lean on a wall and gasp. Maker’s breath, taking out a pack of genlocks would be less taxing than some of these dances. At the same time, there was something exhilarating about the challenge. Not to mention Alexia having enough faith in him to suggest it. “Was I close that time?”

“Close?” Alexia laughed delightedly. “That was perfect!”

She threw her arms around him in a sudden hug worthy of her cousin, and Alistair staggered under the unexpected impact. Before she could pull away, he wrapped her in a tight embrace. Alexia had never been prone to physical gestures, and he didn’t want to give up this chance to hold her. She felt good in his arms, the scent of her floral perfume familiar from so much time spent in dance holds, and he resisted the urge to rest his cheek against her hair. “I finally got it right?”

“I told you, you were perfect.” She laughed again, breath tickling across his neck, and Maker, he wanted to kiss her.

Alistair carefully loosened his hold, stepping back from temptation. “I owe all of the credit to my dance instructor.”

“I’m sure she’s very proud of you.” Alexia’s cheeks were flushed pink from the pace of the dance, and her grey eyes sparkled with happiness. Alistair would gladly master a dozen ridiculous Orlesian dances to see her smile at him like that again.

He turned away, rubbing at the back of his neck, his face flushed from more than exertion. “They moved up the schedule for the state visit to Orlais. We’ll be leaving day after tomorrow.”

“Perfect timing!” Alexia sounded delighted at the news.

Alistair winced at her bright tone. He was going to be gone for weeks; she could at least pretend to be disappointed.

Missing his reaction, Alexia continued. “The courante is very much in fashion in Val Royeaux this season, usually following an allemande, which you can do in your sleep. You’re as ready to visit Orlais as I can make you.” She paused, continuing in a more teasing tone. “If you cause a diplomatic incident, it won’t be because you ruined a duchess’s shoes.”

He chuckled, turning back to face her. “I’ll sleep better with that off my list of things to worry about.”

“You should be glad the trip isn’t to Antiva. I haven't prepared you for the volta.”

Alistair frowned, trying to place the name. “Is that the one with all the lifts?”

Alexia nodded. “And usually a very close hold. Especially in the Antivan style.”

Alistair had a sudden memory of watching couples swirling across the dance floor, bodies pressed tightly together as they raced through complicated footwork he hadn’t even begun to understand. “Yet another reason to avoid visiting Antiva.”

Alexia tsked, fingers twitching like she meant to clutch something she wasn’t holding. “You can’t put it off forever, you know. Someone will probably notice if you keep slighting an entire nation.” Her small grin didn’t match the scolding tone of her words.

“I know, I know. So the ambassador keeps telling me.” He rolled his eyes.

Another tsk, another twitch of her fingers. That teasing grin playing around her lips. Maybe complicated Antivan footwork would be a small price to pay if it meant having Alexia held against him so tightly that her skirts swept around his legs like the dancers he remembered watching.

“So I suppose I should be prepared.” Alistair mustered his best attempt at a flirtatious smile. “Will you start teaching me the volta when I get back? The close-hold Antivan version?”

Alexia tilted her head thoughtfully. “You’ve done well with some of the faster dances. The courante certainly came to you more easily than I expected. Maybe you are ready for the volta.”

And there was his answer, all businesslike and practical, entirely side-stepping the question he hadn’t quite asked. Alistair swallowed, trying to keep the disappointment from his face and voice. It wasn’t a surprise, after all. “Orlais first. I didn’t bring up the trip to ask for a progress report.”

“But you’re doing so well!” The encouraging smile stung a little on the heels of her polite rejection.

“I just wanted you to know that I’ll be away for a few weeks.” He shrugged, wondering how much it mattered.

“I’m sure I’ll be terribly bored here without you.” What was he supposed to make of that playful tone, her teasing smile? Before he could figure it out, she continued. “We’ll pick up where we left off when you get back. At least you won’t have time to backslide while you’re away. I’m sure the Orlesians will give you plenty of chances to keep up with your dancing. I’m the one who’s going to suffer, stuck sparring with a mannekin. My defensive technique will get horribly rusty.”

Alistair smirked, taking the offered opening. “What defensive technique?”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” She sniffed, turning away in mock offense but casting him a sideways grin and a mischievous glance out of the corner of her eye.

Maker, this woman was going to be the death of him. He had survived an entire Blight, and he was going to be killed by the smiles of a Hercinian trader. A beautiful, intelligent Hercinian trader who had turned back to face him, still wearing a teasing smile but with a sincere, almost wistful, expression in her eyes.

“The mannekin also won’t offer much in the way of conversation. I suspect I’m going to be lonely without my usual company.”

Alistair swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat, his voice coming out softer than he’d intended. “I think I’ll have the same problem in Orlais.”

She laughed off the compliment and changed the subject, declaring that he needed to practice the courante one more time before leaving for Val Royeaux, just to be sure he was ready. But as they settled back into the dance hold, her fingers trailed over his shoulder in a way that felt more like a caress, and Alistair felt a warm surge of hope in his chest. She would miss him. Maybe that was a start.


	6. A Complicated Reunion

_Everything about this situation is so far outside of my experience. Growing up in a merchant household in Hercinia, I had no reason to expect that I would ever meet a king, much less fall in love with one. I sometimes have trouble coping with the unexpected, and I’m afraid I didn’t always handle my emotions and reactions as well as I should have._

 

The following weeks proved to be even more lonely than Alexia had anticipated. She’d known that she would miss seeing Alistair, spending every afternoon laughing with her friend. But she hadn’t realized quite how much she would miss their playful teasing or his warm smile. She’d had no idea just how much his morning notes brightened her day – even when they were as simple as a quickly scrawled “Sparring after lunch” or “Dance before tea” – until they weren’t there. 

The sense of isolation came from more than missing Alistair’s presence, though. Without him here, she was forcibly reminded of how little role or purpose she had in Denerim, how tenuous her standing at court truly was. As a foreign-born member of the merchant class, she had no titles or alliances. No one needed to seek out her favor or care about her opinion. Even her family name and distant connection to Meri meant little with her cousin spending most of her time away from the capital, with Teagan at Redcliffe. 

Alistair enjoyed spending time with her because she valued him for himself rather than his title and influence and connections, and Alexia discovered to her surprise that it was entirely mutual. While she gave him a chance to come down off the pedestal of being royalty, he saw her as worthy of his time despite not having any of the advantages nobility typically valued. Without Alistair, she felt invisible, irrelevant, and deeply alone. 

Rather than dwelling on it, Alexia occupied herself with cultivating trade relationships for her mother and gathering gossip to send to Meri. These self-imposed tasks kept her busy enough, but they couldn’t erase the sense of being an outsider. Ultimately, everything she did merely filled the time until Alistair returned from Orlais. When he finally came back, a day earlier than planned, his unexpected presence caught her off guard.

She’d picked up a fascinating piece of gossip over dinner, minor nobility negotiating a foreign marriage for their second son, and was hurrying to her room to jot down a note for Meri. Thoughts occupied with potential political ramifications, she turned a corner into a cluster of travel-worn Fereldans she hadn’t heard coming. Alexia didn’t even register their faces, because the only one who mattered was standing right in front of her. “Alistair! You’re back!”

Without thinking, she wrapped him in an impulsive hug, resting her head on his shoulder. He froze for a moment, startled by her sudden appearance, then his arms came up around her, strong and secure, holding her against his chest. His warmth soaked into her, and her eyes drifted closed. She sighed contentedly, enveloped in his presence. “I missed you.”

Alistair’s breath hitched, and his grip tightened, one hand splaying across the small of her back like he was steadying her during a turn. “I missed you, too.” His voice, soft and husky and ever so familiar, brought a smile to her face and filled her chest with warmth. He’d been away far too long.

Gradually, she became aware of noise around them – people whispering, murmuring, snickering – and Alexia realized her mistake. Somehow, for a moment, she had let herself forget that his man, the one she was standing in the middle of a public hallway embracing, was not just her friend Alistair. He was the king of Ferelden, and she had just committed – in fact continued to actively commit – a very public, scandalous breach of protocol.

Feeling her cheeks burning, Alexia pulled away, dropping into a belated formal curtsey, woefully insufficient but the best she could manage. She kept her head lowered and eyes downcast, not wanting to make eye contact with any of the gathered crowd busy judging and mocking the foreign merchant’s daughter. Her throat felt tight, and she forced her voice out in a barely audible murmur. “Welcome home, your majesty. I’m glad you arrived safely.” Head lowered, she waited for them to leave, to stop staring at her.

Instead, a familiar hand cupped her elbow, gently but firmly raising her back up to standing. She wanted to keep her head ducked, hiding her flaming cheeks, but his thumb brushed insistently over the inside of her arm until she looked up. Alexia expected disapproval or shock at her lapse, but Alistair’s open face held a smile, slightly confused but genuine, and there was no trace of reproach in his voice. “It’s good to be back. We’ll talk tomorrow.” A soft huff of a laugh, casual and relaxed, as if they were alone, as if no one else mattered. “At the practice yards, please. I could use a break from dancing.”

Acutely aware of the appraising eyes, the whispers behind raised hands, Alexia tried to keep her response within the realms of appropriate formality, knowing it was far too late for that. “As your majesty wishes.”

He blinked at her, head cocked like a mabari not sure what he had just heard, and she couldn’t help but smile at his honest transparency, so ill suited to political games. Her smile seemed to reassure him, and he squeezed her arm once before releasing it and continuing along the hallway.

Alexia stepped back to let his retinue pass, keeping her head held high despite the curious stares, the whispers, the flush she could feel lingering in her cheeks. If Alistair accepted her informality, she refused to weaken his position by letting them think she might be embarrassed by it, somehow ashamed of his favor.

Once the last of them passed her by, with a final curious stare, she fled, hurrying to the sanctuary of her room. The intended note to Meri forgotten entirely, she paced in front of the fire, chiding herself for her foolish carelessness. What had she been thinking? Alistair had befriended her, indulged her in private as his dance instructor and sparring partner, but that meant nothing to the majority of the court. As she had been pointedly reminded the past few weeks, officially she remained a foreign-born commoner with no claim on Fereldan nobility. With Meri gone to Redcliffe, she could only barely justify her presence here. She certainly shouldn’t be courting scandal by behaving so recklessly. What had she been _thinking_? Clearly she hadn’t. There could be no possible justification, no reason to take such liberties. To hug the king. To sink into his warmth, bury her face against his collar, and inhale the scent of his skin. 

Oh. Oh, no… 

Alexia’s pacing faltered, and she took a deep breath as she tried to deny this sudden awareness, the full extent of her mistake, far worse than she realized. Touching – even hugging – the king without invitation paled in comparison. Because somehow, without knowing or admitting it, she’d begun to fall in love with him.

How had she let this happen? Alistair was unquestionably a good man, strong and brave and handsome and funny, the kind any woman would be hard pressed not to admire. But she should have left it at that, admiration and friendship. A friendship she had no right to expect and deeply cherished. She ought to be grateful for that much, not hoping for more. A merchant’s daughter had no place being so familiar with the king. Alistair was the monarch and a national hero, remote and distant and regal.

Except that he wasn’t. All of that was just for show, and not even a very convincing show if someone took the time to know him. Underneath the formal mask, he was a sweet, awkward, charming man who never quite seemed to believe that he mattered. He was playful and genuine and so eager to shed the mantle of kingship and be accepted for himself. And she was honored beyond measure that he trusted her with that secret, true self. How could she not love him? He was warm and compassionate and wonderful… and none of that mattered.

Because he had a wife.

No matter what she felt for him, nothing could – or should – ever come of it. Letting herself develop feelings for a married man had been a grave mistake, one she never, never should have made. But she could remedy it. If she avoided any more careless lapses like this evening’s, Alistair would never need to know what a fool she’d been. He could still have the friend he so very much needed; she could give him that much, at least.

Alexia felt suddenly glad that he’d requested sparring rather than dancing for tomorrow afternoon. She suspected she would need the distance – both physical and emotional – of wearing her armor.

\------------

 

Alexia shook her hands to take away the sting after having her greatsword unceremoniously twisted from her grasp. Again. 

Barely a quarter of an hour into their sparring session, Alistair had disarmed her twice and knocked her from her feet once, while she’d barely managed to get her blade past his guard to score a single touch. She was clearly even more out of practice than she’d realized. Taking pity on her, Alistair called a halt, giving her a break before starting the next bout. Rather than striking up a conversation, as they usually would, as he likely expected, Alexia retrieved her fallen sword and stalked across the yard, gritting her teeth in frustration at her utter incompetence.

With the previous night’s uncomfortable revelation fresh in her mind, she could see all too clearly why her combat skills had suffered so badly. Grudgingly, she admitted to herself that she’d done nothing to maintain them. Without the appeal of Alistair’s company to draw her to the practice yards, she hadn’t bothered to come. The combat training that she used to seek out to clear her head had become so tangled up with her feelings for him that she’d avoided swordwork because it reinforced his absence. Perhaps being soundly trounced in this afternoon’s sparring match would give her a few lingering bruises to remind her just what a stupid mistake she was making, on so many levels.

Yet despite all of it – her miserable attempts at keeping up with his swordplay, the protests of her sore muscles and developing bruises, the litany of self-recrimination in her head – Alexia hadn’t been so happy in weeks. She couldn’t stop smiling every time Alistair looked at her. Laughing at his jokes. Teasing him to provoke a grin. Maker, she had missed this. Had missed him. 

She had told herself last night that she could continue on the way they’d been. That she could keep her feelings in check around him. That everything would be fine. But after a scant handful of minutes in his presence, she knew it for a lie. If she wanted to overcome her inappropriate feelings, her attraction to this man she could never have and should not want, she needed distance. Not forever, just long enough for this foolish infatuation to wither. Glancing over at him, her heart fluttering at his bashful smile and casual wave when he saw her looking, she knew it would be difficult to step back. But she had to create that distance, because she couldn’t continue like this.

Squaring her shoulders, Alexia returned to where Alistair waited. He’d set down his practice blade, and his shield hung loosely from his off arm. So much for her plan of starting the next match to avoid conversation. 

Alistair started talking as soon as she approached, the words flowing out in a nervous rush, like they’d been all dammed up waiting for her to return. “So it turns out there’s a gala night after tomorrow. Honoring the Antivan ambassador’s birthday, apparently. You’d think someone would have told me before this morning that I was hosting a party. I’ve gotten him a very nice present, I’m told. Quite thoughtful of me. Maybe someone will even let me see it before giving it to him.” He shrugged, bemused indifference not quite concealing his annoyance, but then his face softened to an almost shy smile. She bit the inside of her lip, scolding herself for wanting to read far too much into that simple expression and the words that followed. “Do you suppose you could find time tomorrow afternoon to help me brush up on my dancing?”

Alexia pictured it, the two of them together in his day room, like they’d been countless times before. Standing close, hands clasped, his arm at her waist, their legs brushing together as she guided him through the steps. Encouraging him and laughing with him and having her whole world filled up with his presence. Every part of her wanted to agree as easily and readily as she would have done a month ago, a week ago, two days ago.

But instead she swallowed back the yes that sat on the tip of her tongue, forced a smile, and shook her head. “You don’t need the practice. From what you said yesterday, the Orlesians tried to dance your feet off, and you can hardly have forgotten all of the steps in the time you spent on the road from Val Royeaux. You’ll be fine at the gala.” She let a hint of genuine pride creep into her voice; he’d earned it. “I think you’re outgrowing my tutelage, anyway. Whether you realize it or not, you’re quite an accomplished dancer now. There’s not much more I could have to offer you.”

Keeping a smile fixed on her face and refusing to see the disappointment and confusion in his eyes, she raised her sword. “Ready for another round?”


	7. A Polite Refusal

_~~At times, in fact, I suspect that I handled things spectacularly badly.~~ _

_At times, I’m afraid I made things harder than they had any reason to be. It all seemed very logical at the time, but looking back on it now, I can confidently say that I acted foolishly._

_Thankfully, as I’m sure you have reason to know well, Alistair can be quite persistent._

 

Alistair could think of a hundred places he would rather be than the ambassador’s birthday gala. In fact, he couldn’t come up with many that sounded worse. He’d had his fill of uncomfortable clothes and razor-edged polite conversation in Val Royeaux with all of its balls and masques and fetes and soirees and Maker knew what other terms they came up with for formal events. Coming back home should have meant a break from that nonsense, not another evening in a ballroom sitting on an uncomfortable chair and dressed in formalwear, trying not to fidget – especially with Anora sitting a foot away looking as poised and calm as ever – and watching other people dance.

Dancing… That should have been the one thing he’d look forward to about tonight; at least in Denerim he had a dance partner he wanted to spend time with. Or at least he thought he did. For one brief day, he’d thought he might have even more than that.

When he’d run into Alexia in that hallway, the way she’d melted against him when he returned her hug, the relief in her voice when she said she’d missed him, the light in her eyes when she looked up at him… For a moment Alistair had thought he must be the luckiest man alive. He’d spent almost a full day after thinking that she might return his feelings, that she wanted him nearly as much as he needed her.

Then the next day at the practice yards, Alexia acted like none of it had ever happened. Like she hadn’t sighed against his shoulder or stared into his eyes or wrapped her arms around his neck. Like he hadn’t felt her heartbeat against his chest. Like he’d been gone a day instead of nearly a month, and it hadn’t mattered very much either way. Alistair almost would have believed the embrace in the hallway had been a dream, except for two things: the lingering whispers of gossip about her boldness and the color that rose in Alexia’s cheeks when he caught her staring at him.

His rational mind wanted to dismiss what had happened, what he’d _thought_ had happened, that glimpse of mutual attraction. Everything in his past experience told him that this sort of wishful thinking could only lead to disappointment. But then Alexia would smile at him, something in her eyes telling him that he hadn’t been imagining anything, and he was lost. The conflict left him feeling trapped, uncertain what she wanted, what he could hope for, what to do next. 

Which left him in his current position, brooding on a moderately comfortable padded throne with a raised dais that gave him the perfect view of Alexia, sitting across the room at a small table by herself, looking beautiful and lonely. Maker’s breath, this was stupid! He wouldn’t accomplish anything by staring at her at the far end of a dance floor. 

Mind made up, Alistair stood, conscious of the curious eyes on him – he deeply hated whatever past monarch or advisor had decided that royalty should be put on display at formal events like sculptures in a gallery full of particularly critical art patrons – and reflexively tugged at his jacket to make the blighted thing lay smooth.

“I’m going to dance.” He felt his cheeks flush at the pointless, obvious announcement, but rather than mocking him, Anora responded graciously that he should enjoy himself, as if his statement had been precisely the right thing to say at that moment.

Feeling slightly less awkward than he might have otherwise, Alistair strode decisively across the ballroom towards Alexia, skirting the edges of the dance floor but avoiding anyone who looked like they might want to talk. He was not in the mood. Alexia’s eyes fixed on him as soon as he started in her direction, proof that she’d been watching him as closely as he’d been staring at her. Confidence bolstered by that tiny sign of welcome, Alistair crossed the last few steps to where she sat and held out a hand. “Would you care to dance?”

Alexia looked up at him, her expression unreadable, and the moment of silence that followed held far too much weight for such a little piece of time. Then something imperceptible shifted, and she shook her head. “I can’t.” Her expression of polite refusal looked feigned - every bit as false as the smiles he’d gotten from well-bred Orlesian ladies making conversation with a mongrel dog lord - but he glimpsed a hint of genuine regret in her eyes. “I’m afraid I turned my ankle in our sparring session the other day. I’ll have to be content with watching the dancing this evening.”

Alistair frowned, turning the matches over in his mind, trying to remember how she’d managed to get injured without him noticing. She hadn’t been limping when they finished; surely he would have noticed if she were. “Are you all right?”

She waved away his concern, the casual gesture tight and uncomfortable. “It’s nothing, just a small sprain, not serious but inconveniently timed.” 

Alistair stared at her, not knowing how to handle the conflict between her words and her body language. After a moment, he realized he was still holding out a hand she clearly had no intention of taking. He withdrew it awkwardly, at a loss for what to do next as her face remained closed off. The distance he’d felt in the practice yards hadn’t been his imagination, then.

Alexia offered him a fixed smile, a shadow of her usual teasing grins. “I’m sure your majesty can find another partner to show off your hard-earned skills. Perhaps the queen?”

“What?” He blinked, startled by the suggestion. Why would she even say something like that? He’d never talked to her about Anora; he rarely even thought about Anora. But now that she mentioned it, he couldn’t recall ever having seen the queen dance of her own volition. With anyone. Certainly not with him. Other than their one awkward mandatory outing at the coronation ball, Anora and dancing didn’t fit into the same space in his mind. Alistair shook his head. “Anora and I… We don’t… dance.”

Alexia shrugged, glancing away, her eyes focused on the dancers spinning through a waltz rather than looking at him. “Maybe you should, now that you’re more confident in your skills. I’m sure she would be favorably impressed.”

Alistair stared at her for a moment longer, trying to make sense of the distant gaze, the polite but final words. Whatever her reasons, it felt like a dismissal. Uncertain what had just happened but unwilling to continue making a fool of himself by holding an awkward one-sided conversation, Alistair turned and stalked back through the crowd, stomping up the two steps of the dais to his stupid raised throne.

Anora’s lips twitched at his return, the faintest hint of a frown, and he instinctively sat up straighter, resisting the urge to slouch on the heavy padded chair. At least she had the grace not to ask what had happened. Not that she needed to. She had a clear line of sight, and the outcome had been painfully obvious. 

Alistair leaned one elbow on the arm of the chair, chin resting on his fist, and he watched without seeing as happy couples whirled around the dance floor, moving together in effortless sweeps and turns, laughing and smiling. He hated all of them.

After a few minutes, about half the length of a galliard, Anora interrupted his brooding. “Are you still considering the suggestion that Arl Guerrin brought you some months ago?”

Alistair turned his gaze from the dancers to stare at her in bewilderment. She wanted to talk business now, while he was busy sulking? Well, maybe the distraction would be welcome at that. 

He quickly searched his memory for context, some idea what she was talking about. Anora’s face held no clues, of course. Anora had mastered the art of wearing a mask without needing to wear one. She’d be an instant success in Orlais if her family name wouldn’t cause a diplomatic incident as soon as she crossed the border. 

Without any hints, Alistair drew a complete blank on what she wanted him to remember from months ago. He couldn’t think of any proposal Eamon had brought that would have been sitting that long; the chancellor tended to push his ideas forward aggressively until they were approved or rejected, never left to linger.

Except Anora had said arl, not chancellor. Even if Alistair – and a good portion of the privy council – continued to think of his uncle as Arl Eamon, that title belonged to Teagan now. And the only suggestion Teagan had made that he’d – eventually, awkwardly, with lots of stammering and blushing – mentioned to Anora…

Had his wife just asked him, in the middle of a formal gala, if he was planning on taking a mistress?

Alistair felt his cheeks grow warm as he struggled to give her an honest answer. He and Anora had agreed from the outset to be as truthful as possible with one another; if their joint rule was going to benefit Ferelden, it would have to be based on a foundation of trust. That didn’t always make it easy, though. Especially when his wife asked him about his intentions to have an affair like it was a simple thing that had nothing to do with her. Which it didn’t, not really, but still. “I, um, well. Probably, yes.”

Anora nodded thoughtfully, as if that had been a far more informative response. “And do you have a candidate in mind?”

He couldn’t help the huff of bitter laughter, both at the delicate phrasing of the question and its horrible, ironic timing. “I thought I did, but it’s looking like I was wrong.”

With another thoughtful nod, she mercifully let the subject drop, and Alistair relaxed.

Conversations with Anora were always like this, subtle and indirect, requiring him to work to keep up with her. For the first several months, it had felt like playing chess. Eamon had tried to teach him as a boy, before he was sent away to the Chantry, and Alistair hadn’t taken to the game at all; he’d never seen the point of it. Anora’s conversations had given him the same feeling, at first, like she was probing out his defenses, looking for weaknesses in his strategy and thoughts.

But over time he’d come to realize that talking with the queen was more like a partnered card game. Subtle attempts to communicate critical information – trump suit or preferred lead or how to bid – to one’s ally without giving anything away to opponents listening in. Which undoubtedly made a great deal of sense in political settings, when they were almost never entirely alone and even the servants could be passing information to unfriendly ears. Alistair struggled to go along with the habitual caution that seemed as natural to her as breathing. He may have been the one with royal blood, but Anora was born to this.

After a few moments of reflective silence, Anora spoke again, her voice bright and deceptively casual. “We should be good hosts. It wouldn’t do to have the ambassador think that the royal couple isn’t enjoying this birthday celebration.” She stood gracefully, standing still for a moment to allow her skirts to fall smoothly into place.

For a moment, Alistair thought she might be channeling Alexia’s insane suggestion that they should dance, but then Anora continued, glancing at him with the faintest hint of a smile that struck him as genuine and sympathetic. “Since you don’t seem to be in the mood to socialize, I thought I might mingle with a few of our guests.”

The queen descended from the dais and threaded her way into the crowd. Alistair watched her suspiciously; in his experience, Anora never did anything without a reason. He didn’t see an obvious purpose at first, watching her exchange greetings and pleasantries with various nobility and notable guests. But then her plan became apparent, and Alistair felt his stomach sink.

Anora could navigate a room expertly, moving from person to person without any apparent destination but always ending up precisely where she intended to be. Alistair had gotten used to watching her work a crowd, and from his vantage, he had no doubt that her indirect trajectory led straight to Alexia.

Maybe being back in Val Royeaux for the evening didn’t sound so bad after all.


	8. A Startling Disclosure

_That stubborn determination sometimes hides his insecurity and vulnerability a bit too well. For such a strong warrior, Alistair can be far too easily hurt. I promise that's a lesson I won't need repeat instruction to remember._

 

Alexia’s stomach clenched with guilt at the sight of the queen walking towards her. This woman had been nothing but gracious to her, and Alexia had, however unintentionally, fallen in love with her husband. Alexia couldn’t imagine how she might atone for that transgression, but she should at least make a start. She quickly rose to her feet and dropped into a curtsey. 

“Lady Cousland.” The queen’s pleasant greeting did nothing to ease Alexia’s guilt. “I understand you are a good friend to the king.” 

“I’ve tried to be, your majesty. It’s certainly not a hardship. He’s an easy man to like.” The faint praise felt both woefully insufficient and far too personal. Alexia took a quick breath and allowed a sincere if inelegant apology to spill out of her mouth. “I’ve always respected your majesty and never meant you any insult or dishonor.” 

Queen Anora regarded her thoughtfully for a moment, piercing eyes taking Alexia’s measure, before a small smile graced her face. “That must make you something of a rarity at court.” 

“Your majesty?” Alexia had no idea how to respond. Had that been a joke? 

“Please, sit. I think it’s time we had a talk.” 

Alexia perched obediently on her chair, taking a slow breath to try and calm her nerves. She would need a level head for this conversation, whatever it might be. 

The queen took a seat across from her and placed her hands on top of the small table, one neatly folded over the other. “I trust you understand that my marriage is a political one.” 

Alexia nodded mutely, caught off guard by the woman’s directness. “I know that it began as a political compromise arranged by the gathered nobility at a Landsmeet. But although it might not have been your choice, I would never assume that means—“ 

Anora cut her off. “It means that Alistair shares my throne, not my bed.” 

Shocked by the blunt statement, Alexia could only stammer a response. “Why would you tell me that?” 

“Because whatever faults he may have, Alistair is a good man.” The queen’s smile held genuine fondness, and Alexia warmed to her instantly. “More importantly, he’s not the sort of man who is happy alone. He needs – and I think, deserves – more in his life than a loveless political partner.” 

Alexia could only stare, unable to believe what she’d heard. Was the queen suggesting… what it sounded like she was suggesting? She couldn’t possibly be, and yet it was hard to draw any other conclusion. Alexia’s mouth gaped, and she tried to form words, but all sense escaped her. 

Anora chuckled, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “If you can help him find that happiness, I would welcome it.” 

“You would?” Alexia tried to marshal her scattered wits, but coherence continued to elude her. “You mean I should…” 

“You should know that the potential exists, which I assume he hasn’t told you.” A trace of almost fond annoyance entered the queen’s voice briefly, before being erased by a casual tone and light shrug. “What you choose to do with the information is entirely up to the two of you.” Anora stood, clearly considering the conversation finished. A small smile lingered as she appraised Alexia’s stunned silence. 

After a moment of her mouth opening without words emerging, Alexia found her voice. “I appreciate… You didn’t have to… That was…” Pausing, she took a steadying breath, then nodded her head in a respectful bow. “Thank you, your majesty. This… changes things.” 

The queen’s smile broadened for a moment, followed by a satisfied nod of acknowledgment. Then she was gone, sweeping off into the crowd to speak with other guests. 

Alexia watched her go, mind whirling faster than the dancers running through a reel on the floor. Unless she was dreaming, the queen had just sanctioned – perhaps even encouraged? – her having a relationship with Alistair. Gradually, the numbing shock faded, replaced by an almost giddy sense of possibility, of anticipation. If Anora wouldn’t be harmed, if the royal couple had no relationship for her to damage, there was nothing to keep Alexia from following her heart, from letting herself fall hopelessly in love with this charming, bashful, handsome, caring man. A foolish smile spreading across her face, she looked up towards Alistair. Their eyes met, and her heart skipped with the soaring realization he had already been looking at her, that he was thinking about her, too. 

Then his face twisted, and he turned away, but not before she saw the pain he was trying to conceal. Oh, Maker’s breath. Anora hadn’t picked her randomly for this conversation. If the queen had sought her out to make sure she knew Alistair was available – if thought that he should have told her himself already – Alistair must have mentioned her. Must have feelings for her. For long enough that his wife had become aware of it. How long had he been living with the cautious hope that was starting to swell in her chest? 

And then she’d rejected him. Of course he was hurt. She had turned him away with a polite, callous smile. What was he supposed to think? 

Alexia nearly leapt to her feet, wanting to race across the room, to take his hand and apologize. To promise she hadn’t meant it and beg him to let her make up for her coldness. But caution kept her seated firmly in her chair. If this was going to work, if they were going to have a relationship – assuming he truly wanted one, assuming she wasn’t imagining what she wanted to see – Alexia would need to be careful, mindful of his position. He couldn’t afford to have her acting like a lovesick girl. If she wanted to be the king’s mistress – and now that she was honest with herself, Alexia could think of few things she wanted more – she needed to reflect well on him, to earn the respect of the court. Anything less would weaken Alistair’s standing in their eyes. 

As Alexia considered how to make amends without making a scene, the queen’s meandering path led her back to the dais. She settled calmly onto her throne, surveying the gathering as she had done for most of the evening. Alistair turned towards her, head tilted as he listened to something spoken softly, and she patted his arm, then smiled. Alexia watched an incredulous expression form on his face, a mixture of hope and disbelief. Anora nodded, tipping her head towards Alexia, and Alistair followed the gesture. 

Their eyes met again, across the crowded ballroom, and he stared at her for a long moment, his expression wary and guarded, but also the tiniest bit hopeful. Alexia returned his look, willing him to see her contrition, her longing for a chance to repair her mistake. She bit the inside of her lip and waited, hoping. 

After a dozen heartbeats that felt like an eternity, Alistair stood up, and Alexia could breathe again. His approach held none of the queen’s subtlety. He walked directly towards her, ignoring everyone else in his path, everyone else in the room. Courtiers scattered out of his way, taken aback by his decisive, measured stride. Alexia, who hadn’t taken her eyes off him for a moment, doubted any of them could see the nervous energy driving him, the apprehensive tension in his every movement. 

His feet carried him to stand in front of her, and then the decisive momentum faltered. He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck, smiled hesitantly at her. “Um, hi.” 

Maker, he had no idea how perfect he was. “I’m glad you came back.” Alexia beamed up at him, awash in relief. “If your offer is still open, I would very much like to dance with you.” 

“What about your ankle?” He looked wary, as if he couldn’t trust sudden good fortune. 

Alexia tilted her head, offering a hint of a playful smile as she decided to turn her fictitious injury to her advantage. “I think I can manage, but I might need more support than usual.” 

She held out a hand, and he took it without hesitation, his warm fingers wrapping around hers in a way that made her skin tingle with awareness of his presence. Alexia let him draw her to her feet and lead her the short distance to the dance floor. 

“Meaning what?” Alistair still looked confused, and she couldn’t fault him for having trouble keeping up when she was barely a step ahead herself. 

“I need you to hold me closer.” Alexia stepped into the familiar dance hold, then took a half step forward so that her body brushed against his. 

Alistair tightened his arm around her waist with a pleased, incredulous smile. “I think I can manage that.” 

“I’m sure you can.” 

Alexia settled her hand on his shoulder, met his breathless smile with her own, nodded once, and they were off. The dance was simple, a traveling waltz, and their long strides carried them smoothly across the floor. After so many months of practice, she and Alistair moved together effortlessly, as natural as breathing. Alexia could no longer tell if she was leading him or if he’d gained the confidence to lead himself. It scarcely mattered, the way they stepped and turned as one. Spiraling across the dance floor, held against his body, felt perfectly right. His eyes studied her face, and she couldn’t look away, caught in this moment of perfect happiness she had never imagined could exist. She barely felt the floor beneath her feet; they might as well have been flying. 

A laugh of sheer joy bubbled out of her throat, Alistair smiled at her, his hand caressing her waist, and this was everything she’d ever wanted in the world. 

They danced through song after song, steps switching to each new tempo, smoothly moving through the range of dances she’d spent so long teaching him. Tonight made the perfect, final test, and Alexia felt so proud of him, confidently showing off his newfound skills to the court that had always intimidated him. But when she congratulated him on it, he only smiled, an intensity in his eyes that made her breath catch, and told her he only cared about one opinion tonight. 

Eventually they drifted away from the dance floor, seeking quiet on the terrace that ran along outside one wall of the ballroom. Alistair kept his arm against her back as they threaded through the crowd, hand settling at her waist protectively to guide her, and she couldn’t have stopped smiling if she had wanted to. They finally separated when they reached the large double doors leading to the terrace, Alistair moving ahead to hold the door open for her. 

Alexia inhaled deeply as she stepped out into the cool night air, clearing the heady mix of perfumes and wines, replacing it with the soft scents from the nearby gardens. She took another step forward and tilted her head back to stare at the stars, feeling almost dizzy with unexpected happiness. Tonight was magical; she could think of no other word. 

“Do you need to sit?” Alistair sounded concerned, his voice coming from close behind her and it took Alexia a moment to remember her supposed injury. 

She shook her head with a smile. “No, I’ll be fine with something to lean on.” 

Daring, before she could talk herself out of it, she leaned back against his chest, letting her head tip back to rest against his shoulder. Alistair tensed for a moment, startled, but then he wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her more tightly against him. His warmth radiated into her body from every point of contact, and Alexia couldn’t remember ever feeling more happy and at peace. They stood together for a long moment measured only in breaths and heartbeats, in silence that was both comfortable and charged with expectation. 

Eventually, she felt Alistair fidget, shifting his weight, a hitch to his breath, and he finally asked a question that had likely been nagging at him all evening. “What did Anora say to you?” 

He sounded hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he truly wanted to know, and Alexia smiled fondly. She placed a hand reassuringly on his arm that circled her waist, feeling the solidity of muscle underneath the fine fabric of his jacket. “She gave me permission.” 

“Permission?” Without seeing his face, Alexia could hear the frown in his voice, picture the furrowed brow. “You never needed her permission to dance with me before.” 

Alexia hesitated, biting the inside of her lip and wondering whether she should admit the truth.

That proved unnecessary, as the silence stretched and he stepped in to fill it. “You did?” She could picture him thinking quickly, hear the huff of breath when he reached the right answer. “The first time, at Meri and Teagan’s wedding. You hesitated before you agreed to dance with me. I thought… But you were looking to Anora for permission?” 

He sounded almost offended, and Alexia shrugged, feeling strangely defensive. “It seemed appropriate. She is your wife.” 

“In name only.” His tone held annoyance, maybe a touch of resentment, and she could feel the tension in his body as the conversation shifted to his marriage. Alexia sought to calm him, stroking her hand along his forearm, trying to bring back the peaceful comfort of their earlier rapport. 

“So I’ve just been told. Quite firmly.” 

He settled somewhat, but tension remained in the arm around her waist, and his breathing hadn’t slowed back to the steady pace she’d matched as they stood together in silence. “So it wasn’t just about dancing, then. Permission for what?” 

Alexia tensed as well, taking a long breath like she was about to jump into deep water. Now was the moment; she had to leap. “To have feelings that would be highly inappropriate towards a married man if his wife wanted a relationship with him.” 

His breath caught, and she could feel him go very still. Alexia waited, holding her breath and hoping she hadn’t misjudged taking this risk. When Alistair finally spoke, his voice was teasing, with a slight quaver of uncertainty. “So there are feelings involved, now?” 

Smiling, Alexia turned within the circle of his arm to face him, needing to see his face, to let him see the sincerity in hers. An intensity filled the air between them, at odds with the casual, playful words. “It seems so.” 

This close, Alistair filled her entire world. The comforting solid strength of his arm at her waist, his hand spread at the small of her back. His warm eyes, intense and shining and unguarded. The lines of his face, familiar and perfect. Everything about him intoxicated her, and looking wouldn’t satisfy her any longer. She needed to touch him. 

Alexia raised a hand to his shoulder, the placement coming naturally, familiar and secure. But that wasn’t enough any more. Daringly, she stroked along the fabric of his jacket to brush her fingers along the side of his neck, the skin warm and far softer than she expected. She savored his tiny gasp at the contact, the way his eyes darkened. Maker, she wanted… She had no idea what she wanted, other than him. 

A laugh, the sound of voices far too close, drew both of their attention to other couples trickling out from the ballroom. The music that she had quit consciously hearing was missing now. The orchestra must have taken a break, and the terrace was filling up with people mingling and flirting as they passed the time until the music and dancing resumed. 

Alistair frowned, stopping just short of glaring at an arlessa who walked too close. Alexia bit down on her giggle and rapped him lightly on the shoulder to remind him of his manners. 

With a bashful grin, he turned his eyes back to her. “Would you like to walk in the gardens? Hopefully without half the nobility of Ferelden joining us.” 

Alexia chuckled at his barely concealed irritation. “That sounds wonderful. But I suspect I’ll need to stay close and use your arm as support.” She ducked her head and glanced up at him mischievously through her eyelashes. “For my ankle, of course.” 

Alistair looked like he wasn’t sure whether to take her seriously or not, but he didn’t hesitate to offer her his arm. Alexia nestled contentedly against his side as they made their way through the growing crowd on the terrace, seeking the stairs that led down to the gardens.


	9. A Moonlit Walk

_I still can’t quite believe how everything has worked out, that all of this is real. I keep catching myself thinking that it’s all a dream, that I’m going to wake up and realize just how impossible all of this is. I suppose I can’t quite accept that I deserve – that anyone deserves – this much happiness. ___

__

__Moonlight transformed the palace gardens, muting all of their bright colors, leaving the flowers either ghostly pale or mysteriously dark. Lush fragrances hung in the air, the floral scents undimmed by the soft light. Stars sparkled through breaks in the faintly luminous cloud cover that blanketed the sky, and music from the gala drifted across the gardens, its strains distant, faint, and mysterious. Everything felt surreal, dreamlike, and Alistair was half convinced that he was going to turn a corner and encounter a demon or a wall of fire or some other impossibility of the Fade. Tonight couldn’t actually be real._ _

__And honestly, given his history, getting trapped in a Fade nightmare was far more likely than taking a romantic stroll through a moonlit garden with a beautiful woman. The idea that Alexia could possibly return any of the feelings he had for her? Demons definitely sounded more plausible than that._ _

__Alistair peered warily at several particularly suspicious looking bushes, but lurking demons failed to materialize from the greenery._ _

__Alexia, on the other hand, remained quite solidly real, from the blond hair that brushed his cheek when she rested her head on his shoulder to the soft floral scent that got stronger when she leaned close to the slender, calloused fingers that twined around his. This couldn’t be a dream because, Maker’s breath, he’d never be able to dream up anything so perfect._ _

__Walking in the gardens had been a spontaneous idea, a way to avoid all of the curious stares and critical whispers that started up every time he did something that didn’t fit the proper behavior expected of Ferelden’s king. He didn’t want to have to be the king, not tonight. Not with Alexia. So he’d suggested leaving the gala, escaping to the gardens where the court wouldn’t be watching or judging him, if only because they couldn’t see past all of the bushes and trellises to do so._ _

__The gardens had been chosen arbitrarily as the first somewhat private place that came to mind; it never occurred to him that Alexia would actually care about seeing them. He somehow hadn’t expected the woman who knocked him over with a greatsword and wrung favorable trade deals out of dwarven merchants to be thoroughly enchanted by plants._ _

__But almost from the moment they’d stepped onto the stone path, she had been studying the flowers. As he’d quickly learned, the palace gardens were full of delicate southern plants, varieties that couldn’t survive in the hot Free Marcher summers. Alexia said she had never seen most of them outside of watercolors, and she flitted between plants like some sort of oversized butterfly, dragging him after her to share her discoveries. Alistair suspected he should mind being so thoroughly eclipsed by a bunch of flowers, but her unexpected enthusiasm fascinated him. Maker, _she_ fascinated him. Swordswoman, dance instructor, merchant’s guild commodity trader, and now garden enthusiast. What other hidden facets did she have? And could he really be fortunate enough that she would stick around long enough for him to find out? _ _

__Alistair watched as Alexia gently lifted the blossoms to see them better in the scant light, stroking the soft petals with an expression of admiring wonder. He couldn’t help but thinking that a few minutes ago, she’d been looking at him like that, touching him like that. He could feel the lingering impression of her fingers brushing over the side of his neck, and he should probably be jealous that she was caressing a simple flower with the same reverence. But he couldn’t seem to mind. It was worth it to see the look of pure delight on her face as she explored the gardens. And no matter how much attention she paid to the flowers, she was still holding onto his arm._ _

__Their meandering path through the gardens led them to an area that Alistair recognized, and he subtly guided Alexia through the arch of a vine-covered arbor. She moved at his prompting without question, months of dancing together having conditioned her to following his lead and letting him steer her steps._ _

__Ducking under the arbor, they emerged into a small section of the garden enclosed by bushes and trellises, all of them covered in roses. Even at night, the lush blossoms stood out against the dark greenery, and the lingering perfume hung heavy in the air._ _

__“Oh, it’s beautiful!” Alexia stared in breathless delight, leaning in against his side as she stared around wide-eyed, trying to take in the entire alcove at once._ _

__Alistair took advantage of her distraction to study her face as she turned her head. Cheeks slightly flushed, lips parted slightly, grey eyes nearly silver in the moonlight. Never mind the flowers; _she_ was beautiful. _ _

__And he should probably say something instead of staring at her like an idiot. A slightly creepy, obsessed idiot. “They’re all different colors, too. The roses are, I mean. If you like it here now, you should come back in daylight. It’s even nicer.”_ _

__“Nicer?” Alexia made a thoughtful noise, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I think that would depend.”_ _

__It was hard to think clearly with her so close, warm against his side, her hair tickling his neck and her perfume blending with the scent of the roses._ _

__It took him a minute to remember she had said something. Conversation, words. Right, he could do that. “Depending on the weather?” That made sense. Walking in a garden would probably be less appealing in the rain._ _

__Alexia chuckled, shaking her head. “On the company.”_ _

__She turned to face him with a smile that made his breath catch, then stepped in close, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. His arm settled reflexively at her waist, her hands caressed his shoulders, and it was as if they were back on the terrace. Back where she had stared at him with the sort of longing he’d never expected to see._ _

__Even then, she’d held back, hesitant touches and almost-confessions. He had to be sure before he let himself believe that he could have this, that she might really want as much as he did from this relationship. The way she looked at him, emotion shining in her eyes, lips slightly parted as if she couldn’t quite catch her breath, he thought she must feel the same way he did._ _

__But he needed to hear it. “So, um… tell me about these feelings you have permission to have.”_ _

__Alexia laughed. “What am I feeling? Hmm… let’s see.” She tilted her head slightly in thought as her smile broadened. “I’m happy. Most of all, being around you makes me happy. It always has, since the first day I met you on the way to the practice yard. Tonight, I’m also so very proud of you, for being brave enough to take on the challenge of learning to dance when you thought you couldn’t and for being determined enough to learn so well.”_ _

__Her hand smoothed over the fabric of his jacket, stroking his shoulder in a habit she had picked up during dance practices. Alistair had never drawn attention to it for fear that she would stop, and he held his breath now as her fingers trailed across to brush the bare skin at his throat. That tiny touch, hesitant and light, had his skin tingling and the hairs raising on his arms._ _

__Alexia continued, her voice softer, and her fingers brushing distractingly along his neck. “I’m amazed to discover a… a possibility with you that I never expected to have.” She paused, her eyes flicking downward a moment before returning to meet his, her gaze forthright yet vulnerable. “And I’m a little bit nervous. Maybe more than a little bit. Because I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, and I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing.”_ _

__“That makes two of us, then.” Alistair laughed, the combination of her words and touch making him almost giddy. “Of course, I rarely expect to know what I’m doing, so that may make it easier for me.”_ _

__“Says the man who employs the best shield-based offense I’ve ever faced and picked up an allemande in three days.” Alexia gave a small shake of her head, both scolding and fond. “Undervalue the wares all you like, but a good trader is going to recognize quality, however it’s presented.”_ _

__He wanted to tease her, to protest being considered merchandise, but her utter sincerity stopped him. Maker’s breath, had anyone in his entire life ever believed in him this much, ever valued him the way she seemed to?_ _

__Tentatively, he raised a hand up to brush a loose tendril of hair back from her face. Her breath caught as his finger barely grazed her cheek, and her head turned slightly to follow, as if unconsciously seeking more contact. His voice came out rougher than he’d intended, shaky with a slight tremble he couldn’t control. “Sorry, I’m still having a little trouble with…” A soft huff of a laugh. “I never imagined someone so clever and beautiful and talented and… amazing would ever be interested in me.”_ _

__Alexia smiled tenderly, her hand drifting up to caress his jawline. “I can’t imagine how I wouldn’t be.”_ _

__The warmth in her eyes, the soft touch of her fingers, the gentle curve of her lips. Alistair swallowed before he could find his voice, low and rough. “I should warn you, if you keep saying things like that, I may need to kiss you.”_ _

__She tilted her head the tiniest fraction closer, and her hand slipped to the back of his neck. That was all the invitation he needed to finally close the distance and press his lips to hers like he’d been longing to do all evening. Like he’d been longing to do for months._ _

__For all that he had thought about kissing Alexia – far too often and for far too long, starting the first time they danced together at Meri’s wedding, if he was honest – Alistair’s fantasy hadn’t managed to capture the reality of this first kiss. He’d expected some things based on dancing with her, of course. The floral scent she always wore. The feel of her in his arms, although he’d never held her quite so close before._ _

__But there were details he couldn’t ever have imagined until now. He hadn’t dreamed someone so comfortable in armor, so confident and controlled, could be so soft. The way she molded against him, pliant and trusting. The light, delicate brush of her fingertips, stroking along his face and neck in hesitant exploration. The tender press of her lips, sweet and almost chaste but with a hint of buried passion._ _

__When they parted, Alexia’s cheeks were flushed pink, and she smiled up at him, radiant and slightly breathless. “That was nice. I’ll have to remember to say nice things about you more often.”_ _

__Alistair pretended to consider that for a moment, but really, with his lips still warm from her kiss and his head swimming with her nearness, what was there to consider? “I’m not seeing a downside to this plan.”_ _

__Her laughter was warm and sudden and joyous, and he could only think of one possible response. As he kissed her again, her laughter cut off with a startled gasp that shifted to a contented sigh. She pressed more tightly against him, and Alistair could still feel the curve of her smile against his mouth._ _

__

__Alexia had no idea how long they stayed there, talking and kissing and simply basking in the joy of each other’s presence. But eventually, reality reasserted itself._ _

__Alistair’s arms were warm wrapped around her, and she would have been content to stay with her head nestled on his shoulder for an eternity. But that would be irresponsibly selfish of her; even if it seemed Alistair could be hers – and Maker, she could scarcely believe her good fortune – he could never be solely hers. She might not have to share him with his wife, not in any of the ways that mattered, but the kingdom would likely prove even more demanding of his time and attention than another woman could ever be._ _

__So as much as she might like Alistair to have the freedom to give an entire evening to her with no consequences, it would be utterly unrealistic to expect him to neglect his duties any longer than he already had. She was grateful beyond words to have stolen so much of his time this evening, but she ought to give him back to Ferelden now._ _

__She sighed, regretting the end of such a lovely interlude. “This has been wonderful.”_ _

__“Has been? So it’s finished, then?” Alistair tried to sound casual and teasing, but she could hear the concern layered underneath._ _

__Alexia lifted her head, pulling back far enough to see him, the lines of worry and disappointment starting to crease his face. “Only for now.” She stroked her fingers over his cheek, reveling in the freedom to touch and watching the signs of tension melt away under her reassurance. “I would love to stay here longer, but you’re supposed to be hosting a gala tonight, as I recall. I wouldn’t want to cause an international incident by encouraging the king of Ferelden to snub the Antivan ambassador on his birthday.”_ _

__Alistair groaned, muttering something unflattering about the gala, the ambassador, or possibly Antivans in general._ _

__Smirking, Alexia shook her head and gave him a mock-scolding look._ _

__He sighed, responding with a lopsided grin that managed to be both apologetic and unrepentant. Not to mention completely endearing. “All right. I’ll go back to the party on one condition. Will you dance with me?”_ _

__“Spending the rest of the evening in your arms?” Alexia wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, savoring the warm solidity of him against her. She pretended to look thoughtful, the effect doubtless undermined by the smile she couldn’t manage to suppress. “I think I could be persuaded.”_ _

__A brief frown shadowed his face. “Are you sure you’re up to more dancing? With your ankle, I mean.”_ _

__Hit by an unexpected surge of guilt, and Alexia looked away, unable to face his tender concern over her faked injury. She needed to confess. “There’s nothing wrong with my ankle.” Tilting her head back up, she met his gaze, needing him to understand why she had deceived him. “Earlier tonight, when I said that, it was before… I thought that I couldn’t, that we shouldn’t…”_ _

__She paused for a single steadying breath, trying to regain her composure and marshal her words. “I thought I needed to keep some distance until I could control my feelings for you, and dancing with you tonight would have been more temptation than I could stand.” She felt her cheeks warm as she admitted to the final piece. “I pretended to have an injury because that was an easier lie than saying I didn’t want you.”_ _

__Alistair stared at her wordlessly for a moment, his eyes wide and soft, holding a look of awed surprise that made her heart ache for him, for how little he thought he deserved to be valued._ _

__When he finally spoke, his voice came out soft and slightly ragged. “How did I ever… Do we have time for me to kiss you again?”_ _

__As if she would ever refuse, especially when he looked at her like that, reverent and worshipful in a way that made her feel treasured and precious. “Always.” A tiny, joyful smile. “If we didn’t, I would make time.”_ _

__Alistair’s hand slid up to cradle the back of her neck as he leaned in for another kiss. Alexia let her eyes drift closed as she savored the sensations. Strong arms holding her close. Gentle fingers stroking her hair and neck. Warm lips, firm and insistent but not demanding. Alexia had never been kissed before tonight, but kissing Alistair was quickly becoming one of her favorite things in the world._ _

__When they finally parted, Alistair regained the ability to speak first. “You don’t need to any more, right? Lie to me, I mean. You’re encouraged to continue the kissing at any time.” His mischievous grin faded as quickly as it had come. “But you won’t need to lie?”_ _

__His gaze was intense, and his expression strangely serious. Startled, Alexia slowly shook her head. “I suppose not.”_ _

__“Good. Then don’t.” He cupped her cheek with one hand, staring intently into her eyes. “I have to spend so much time with diplomats and negotiators, always on guard because I can’t trust any of their carefully chosen words. I need somewhere to relax, someone I can trust. Can we agree to always be honest with one another? No more lies, no matter how well intended. Please?”_ _

__Alexia started to nod, responding instinctively to his clear need, but a thought occurred and she stopped herself. Raising a hand to where his rested on her cheek, she interleaved her fingers with his, the gentle touch meant to soften her words. “Only if it goes both ways. The first deception in our acquaintance didn’t come from me. Your majesty.”_ _

__Her wry emphasis on his title had the intended effect, drawing a sheepish grin at the memory. “I never actually _said_ I was a guard…” _ _

__Alexia pursed her lips to fight a smile at his weak defense. But she couldn’t let it go at that, not without mentioning the greater misunderstanding. “There’s also the matter of not having told me your marriage was an act.”_ _

__He winced, taking his hand back and running it through his hair. “How was I supposed to bring that up? Just casually slip it into conversation. ‘Oh, in case you’re wondering, I have my wife’s permission to start an affair, so there’s a vacancy in the position of royal mistress, if you’re interested.’ I’m sure that’s exactly the romantic sort of overture every woman wants to hear, that she has the chance to be a sanctioned marital indiscretion.”_ _

__Alexia caught his hand as he gestured aimlessly, stilling his nervous words by running her fingers gently over his knuckles and bringing his hand briefly to her lips. “That’s not how I would have heard it, but it doesn’t matter now. Although to be clear, I am very much interested.” She kissed his hand again, nuzzling her cheek against his calloused palm as she continued. “I want this to work, and you’re right that it’s going to require honesty and trust. From both of us.” Tilting her head, she offered him a smile. “I promise that I’ll try if you will.”_ _

__“I… of course.”_ _

__“Good.” Alexia lowered their joined hands, twining her fingers with his. Ducking her head, she glanced up through her lashes with a faint grin. “I should admit that I’ve also been using my ankle as an excuse to need to be held. But if we’re going to be fully honest, then I suppose I should just ask.”_ _

__Alistair said nothing, looking at her with a grin that widened as he waited, eyebrows raising in unspoken expectation._ _

__Maker’s breath, he was going to make her specifically ask, wasn’t he? Glaring in fond exasperation, she forced out the halting request. “I want to spend this evening as close to you as I can. Will you please hold me?”_ _

__His free arm slipped around her waist at once. “At every possible opportunity.”_ _

__Alexia leaned in as he drew her against him, then glanced up in amused irritation. “You had to make me say it?”_ _

__His answering grin was both mischievous and bashful. “I’ve discovered I really like hearing you say things like that.”_ _

__Laughing softly, Alexia rested her head on his shoulder as they slowly wended their way out of the gardens to return to the gala._ _


	10. A Perfect Evening

_Is this how being in love always feels? Like you’re floating through your life and every little thing makes you think of him. Trying to remain composed and reasonable when inside you’re counting every minute until you can see him again. I’d almost think I’ve lost my mind! Except I’m far too happy about it to care if I have._

 

They slipped back into the ballroom through the terrace doors, trying to draw as little attention as possible. But nevertheless, Alexia felt eyes on her as they stepped onto the dance floor, Alistair’s arm still wrapped firmly around her waist. Most of the observers weren’t important, court gossips and busybodies. But there was one person whose opinion in this very much mattered… 

Alexia turned her head, seeking the raised thrones on their dais. The queen met her gaze with an approving smile and a slight nod, and that acceptance dispelled any lingering doubts about being so open in her affection. The glances and whispers didn’t matter. Let them stare, let them talk. Tonight was for her and Alistair, and the entire court’s worth of gossips couldn’t dampen her happiness. Holding her head high, Alexia stepped into a close dance hold, basking in the warmth of Alistair’s smile as much as his arms. 

As promised, she spent the rest of the evening in Alistair’s arms, dancing through song after song. Waltzes, galliards, allemandes. It all blurred together into a seamless flow of music and movement and Alistair’s eyes locked onto hers in a worshipful, disbelieving, joyous gaze that made the rest of the room – the rest of the world – vanish. She could have stayed in this perfect night of music and flowers and Alistair for the rest of her life. 

The orchestra started the opening strains that heralded the final dance of the night, and Alexia paused for the first time. Alistair frowned at her hesitation, then tilted his head as he listened to the chords, his brow furrowing in thought. “Is this…?” 

“A volta.” Alexia nodded. “Apparently the ambassador’s birthday gala is ending on an appropriately Antivan note.” 

Alistair frowned, picking up on her hesitation. “And I’m not ready?” 

Alexia shook her head, running her hand over his shoulder in reassurance. “The problem isn’t your footwork; it’s all the lifts.” She forced a wry smile, trying not to let her unease show. “I’m sure you can pick up the steps without rehearsing them; most of it is essentially a galliard. I’m less sure you can pick up me without practice. I’m not the sort of tiny, delicate noblewoman they had in mind when the volta was created.” 

Alistair caught her chin as she tried to duck her head, drawing her face back up to meet his serious gaze. “And I’m not the sort of soft, pampered dandy who wears ceremonial armor once a year for tourneys and parades. Walk me through the steps, and I can lift you.” He grinned. “Just don’t ask me to try it when you’re in full plate.” 

Alexia felt a smile spread on her own face in response to his unwavering determination and his confidence in her. “All right, let’s risk it.” 

He beamed, returning his hand to her waist to prepare for the opening steps. “I’ll follow your lead.” 

At that moment, as if the orchestra had been waiting for that sign – and maybe they had, stalling until the king was ready – the prelude ended and the volta began. As she had explained to Alistair, the dance alternated between a close-hold galliard and daring lifts. The familiar steps of the opening galliard flowed easily for them both, and Alexia could see Alistair gaining confidence measure by measure. His smile and steady hand melted away her remaining nervous self-consciousness. When they reached the first set of turns, she helped him find his hand placement and prepared to spring into the lift. 

The first lift turn proved a bit shaky. Alistair’s hold wasn’t perfect, and Alexia held her breath as she wobbled a bit in the air, horrified by the prospect of losing her balance and falling. Not so much because of the potential for injury – she was far more likely to crack a rib sparring with Alistair than dancing with him – but at the thought of the scandal and mockery it would expose Alistair to. He’d jokingly offered her the position of royal mistress as if it were employment, but she was keenly aware of the consequences of any romantic involvement between them, the ways that her actions could reflect on his rule. Even if he didn’t want to recognize the risks, she was fully aware of them. If she was going to be associated with the crown, her behavior would always need to be above reproach. Which did not include a public and dramatic fall in the middle of an ambassadorial gala. 

Thankfully, Alistair managed to overcome the momentary lack of balance with sheer strength, flexing his arms to stabilize her through the rest of the first turn and lower her safely back to the floor in time to step into the next. She marveled at the power in his arms, somehow more impressive when demonstrated in formalwear than in armor, perhaps because it was less expected here. Alexia was keenly aware of the trust she had placed literally in his hands, but she would do it again without hesitation. 

After the uncertain start, Alistair adjusted his hand placement for a steadier grip in the lifts –why had she never realized before quite how intimate this particular hold could be? – and the volta went more smoothly that Alexia could ever remember it. She had doubtless danced with partners who were more skilled at these steps; some of her mother’s Antivan business contacts came to mind. But the dance had never held this sort of breathless energy for her before, the giddy excitement of moving effortlessly with a partner, relying so heavily on instinct and trust. It was heady and amazing, and she felt dizzy more from the heat of Alistair’s gaze than the sensation of spinning through the high lifts. As they danced together, the rest of the room ceased to exist, her entire world narrowing down to Alistair and the music that they moved through in perfect unity. 

As the song rose to a dramatic crescendo, Alexia soared into the final lift, feeling almost weightless as Alistair’s strong arms hefted her up with an effortless grace. He held her suspended as the orchestra drew out the final chords, a traditional test of the dancers’ endurance. Frozen in this timeless moment, Alexia only had eyes for the man holding her. He stared up at her raptly, his brown eyes warm like amber, his cheeks flushed with exertion, his hair gilded by the candlelight. Maker, he was beautiful. How had she ever gotten so fortunate? 

With her hand on his shoulder, more for contact than balance, she could feel the tension in his muscles, but his arms never trembled as he held her aloft through the extended measure. The music cut off with a final flourish, and in the sudden silence, Alistair slowly lowered her. Without taking his eyes from hers, he shifted his grip slightly to bring them into closer contact, and Alexia descended to the floor in a gradual slide along his body. She passed so close that she could see the mingled shades of brown and gold in his eyes, so close that she could have kissed him if she dared. 

Before she discovered if she was sufficiently bold, the chance had passed, and she found her feet on the floor, Alistair’s hands at her waist, her fingers splayed on his chest where she could feel the rise and fall of his breaths and the rapid beat of his heart. Her own breath came quickly, and her cheeks felt flushed, far more than the exertion of the dance could account for. Alistair smiled down at her, his lips parted as he struggled for air as well. As she returned his giddy, breathless smile, she almost felt as if she were still soaring over the dance floor, buoyed up by his strength and her trust in him. 

Her gaze flitted over his face, moving between those parted lips, the pulse visible in his throat, the burning intensity of his eyes. Alexia pressed the tiniest bit closer against his chest, feeling his arms tighten around her in response. She couldn’t have put words to what she wanted in that moment except that she needed to be with him. To feel the warmth and security and excitement of this unexpected connection. 

Alistair’s eyes darkened, and he leaned his head down, decreasing the rapidly vanishing distance between them. Alexia closed her eyes and waited. 

Smatterings of applause on all sides brought her back to awareness of her surroundings. Her eyes flew open and she stepped backwards, startled, pulling out of the circle of Alistair’s arms, as she looked around. The dance floor was filled with couples clapping to thank the orchestra for their service this evening, and Alexia politely joined in. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Alistair doing the same, and she was gratified to note that he looked as disoriented as she felt, with her still racing heart and the blood pounding in her ears. 

The end of the dancing marked the close of the gala, and the guests who hadn’t already retired for the night gathered into an informal receiving line to congratulate the ambassador and thank their royal hosts. Alexia suppressed a pang of regret at the realization that her part in this wonderful evening was over. She had no place here when Alistair needed to return to his obligations as king, so she looked around for a clear path to slip away into the crowd. Before she took more than two steps towards the doors, a hand caught her elbow. 

Turning, she saw Alistair’s warm smile as he offered her an arm. Alexia accepted without hesitation; despite her misgivings about being included in his formal duties, publicly refusing him would be even worse. Smiling, she placed her hand on Alistair’s forearm, falling in at his side as he moved through the crowd, people parting before him, clearing a path to the queen and the ambassador at the foot of the royal dais. The queen greeted Alexia with a gracious nod and smile as they arrived, but that could have signaled genuine approval of her presence or simply further demonstrated her majesty’s incomparable poise in the face of the unexpected. Regardless, Alexia released Alistair’s arm, took a step backwards, and did her best to linger unobtrusively while the guests made their farewells to the royal couple. 

When everyone had departed, the absence of people transforming the ballroom from a riot of warm color and sound into a cold, echoing cavern, Alistair offered to walk Alexia back to her room. The queen bid them good night with a smile that held sincere warmth, and Alexia pointedly ignored the ambassador’s appraising gaze as she left on Alistair’s arm. 

They didn’t talk as they made their way through the palace halls to Alexia’s quarters in the guest wing, but it wasn’t an awkward silence. Alistair’s presence had always put her at ease; after the initial shock discovering her sparring partner had been the king, she’d quickly found it was impossible to think of him as an imposing, regal figure. Not when he tried so hard to be likeable and self-deprecating. Not when he proved to be approachable, funny, and oddly charming. Not when he was so desperate to be just Alistair. Since coming to Denerim, Alexia had relied heavily on years of watching her mother chatting with business associates, filling awkward silences with warm but inane conversation. But with Alistair, that never seemed necessary. For all of his tendency to chatter, when he allowed himself to be quiet, it never felt strained. There was something companionable about his silence, a measure of trust, perhaps, that he allowed himself to be so unguarded. 

Walking through near-silent, empty halls with Alistair’s arm around her, nestled against his side, warm and content, Alexia could think of nowhere else she would rather be. 

When they reached her door, he paused, and the silence became awkward for the first time as Alexia suddenly realized she had no idea what happened next. Surely he couldn’t be expecting… anything more tonight, could he? When she’d accepted his offer to walk her to her room, she hadn’t been thinking about what that might mean, what it might suggest. She hadn’t thought what she might tacitly be agreeing to, only that she wasn’t ready for the magical, impossible evening to end just yet. 

Thankfully, Alistair broke the silence before she could work herself into a true panic. “The palace guard knows what they’re doing. In case you were worrying about armed bravos jumping out at you in the halls.” 

Alexia had no idea what he was talking about, but her nerves calmed anyway, pulse and breathing settling back to normal. One look at Alistair’s smile, teasing and bashful at the same time, with that edge of wonderstruck joy that had filled his face every time he’d looked at her all evening… How could she possibly be afraid of anything? 

“I wasn’t worrying about that at all, but now that you mention it...” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Should I be?” 

“Probably not.” He grinned, shrugging and resettling his arm around her waist in a way that pulled her closer, turning her to face him. She couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes flickered to her lips, and her breath caught in anticipation. “But I’d rather you think the palace might not be safe at night than that I was suggesting you would get lost trying to find your room.” He dropped his voice to deliver a low confidence that she had to lean closer to hear. “Although, in confidence, getting lost in the palace isn’t entirely unheard of. I won’t go into details, but let’s just say that maybe it would be better to have a few more landmarks that aren’t portraits of dead people in armor that all look very similar when you’re new here. Some variety would help with learning the way around, that’s all I’m saying.” 

Alexia laughed, and his smile widened, losing its nervous edge as he continued. “But I didn’t offer to walk you back to your room because I thought you’d get lost or attacked on the way. It was a very clever – and entirely transparent – excuse to steal a few more minutes with you.” 

He looked at her with complete sincerity, and Alexia felt one side of her mouth curl upwards in a fond smile at his utterly unnecessary confession. “I’m glad.” She let her arms drift up to rest on his shoulders, one hand slipping behind his neck. “Tonight was…” She searched for a word, her thoughts dissolving under the heat of his intent, reverent gaze, but then lost the power of speech entirely as she felt his warm breath on her cheek and lips. 

“Was what?” His teasing, soft whisper sent a shiver through her. “Your first ambassadorial gala? Unseasonably warm? Proof that you haven’t been wasting your time teaching me to dance?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Alexia cut him off with a tsk a smile. “Time in your arms, dancing or not, could never be wasted.” She caressed his shoulder, still marveling in having the freedom to touch him for no reason than because she wished to. “And I was going to say that tonight was wonderful.” 

Eyes shining with emotion and lips parted on a soft huff of surprised breath, Alistair leaned down to kiss her. Alexia wrapped her arms more securely around his neck in encouragement, and he pulled her close, pressing her against his chest. The kiss was sweet and lingering, passionate but entirely unhurried. Surrounded by his warmth and presence, feeling cherished and desired, reveling in the sensation of his lips firm yet gentle against hers, Alexia thought she would be content to remain there forever. If it wasn’t for the need to breathe, she might have been tempted to try. 

When they parted, both of them were out of breath, and Alistair leaned his forehead against hers, so close that his ragged breaths stirred the wisps of hair that had come loose around her face over the course of their dancing. His soft laugh held joy but also disbelief. “I keep thinking I’m going to wake up.” 

Alexia smiled softly, stroking her fingers over his cheek. “So do I.” 

After a few timeless moments, as both of their breathing and heartbeats slowed, Alistair pulled back with a reluctant sigh. “I should… I’ve gotten you safely to your room, so I should go now. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He attempted to make the question sound casual, but the wistful, almost fearful edge to his voice caught at Alexia’s heart. 

She smiled, hoping that teasing would allay his concerns. “So we can compare notes and see if this was all a dream?” 

“That too.” The lopsided smile that he rewarded her with would count among her greatest treasures. 

“Whenever your schedule allows, I’ll be there. Like always.” 

The hint of relief in his radiant smile both warmed and broke her heart, and Alexia vowed to do whatever it took to convince him that he deserved this happiness, until he truly believed that she would never want to be anywhere but with him. 

With a surprisingly formal and courtly kiss to her hand, Alistair said good night and retraced his steps along the hallway. Alexia stood at her door and watched him go, returning the shy smile he cast over his shoulder when he reached the corner. 

Once he was out of sight, she lifted the door latch and slipped into her room, feeling buoyant and elated and, all at once, very weary. Her hand still tingling faintly with the final imprint of his lips, she began pulling the pins from her hair, a sweet smile on her lips as she hummed a waltz under her breath.


	11. A Simple Understanding

_I came to Ferelden looking for family. I never expected I might find love, as well. But now that I have, I consider myself fortunate beyond all reason._

_Even if I were the sort of woman to dream about her future husband, to spin up fantasies of an ideal, romantic lover, I never would have imagined someone as perfect as Alistair. Honestly he defies belief, disparate elements blended into such an impossible, perfect whole._

_A man utterly fearless in combat and blushingly awkward in conversation. If I hadn’t known how to use a sword to give us common ground, would he ever have found the courage to speak to me?_

_His endearing, sweet compliments and the look of heartbreaking surprise when they’re returned. How does he not know how beautiful he is, how special?_

_That passionate, stubborn commitment to pursuing the right course of action, no matter what the impracticalities. How can that cynical humor conceal such shining idealism?_

_For a man who claims to be so simple, Alistair may be the most complicated puzzle I’ve ever encountered. I look forward to continuing to discover new facets and surprises._

 

Alistair’s daily schedule was delivered over breakfast, as usual, his entire day planned out to the tiniest detail in Eamon’s neat, precise hand. Bleary-eyed, he smothered a yawn as he scanned it for the only part he cared about, the place where Eamon’s lettering got tighter, somehow managing to convey terse disapproval in written form. His hard-fought free hour came at noon today, earlier than usual, presumably because he was having lunch with someone or another important later in the afternoon, but he couldn’t be bothered to decipher Eamon’s notes to determine who he would be eating with, not this early in the morning after such a late night. Lunch could wait – apparently until midafternoon, even – but that free hour at noon needed his attention. 

Alistair brushed away flaky crumbs to clear a section of the table. He had discovered quickly that one of the best parts of being king was having his own pastry chef as part of a kitchen staff that wasn’t allowed to complain about the royal Grey Warden appetite. Crumbs tended to follow his decision to take advantage of that benefit. Satisfied that the table was clear enough to write on, he pulled over a scrap of paper and an inkwell, scrawling off the usual brief message to Alexia that started his day. 

_Free at noon. No armor._ He usually specified dance lessons on days they didn’t meet in the practice yard, but today he didn’t really care about the lesson. The important part was having Alexia show up not encased in metal. Dancing could be optional; putting his arms around her without getting jabbed by full plate was not. 

As he was about to fold the message and send a page to deliver it, he paused. Last night seemed to call for more than his usual half-awake fragmented sentences. Munching on another biscuit and blinking his eyes several times to clear out the sleep, he tried to formulate better words and eventually settled on a semi-coherent but heartfelt addition. 

_I wish it was sooner._

 

The morning passed with the usual mix of tedium and frustration, and Alistair’s lack of sleep didn’t help with his patience or attentiveness. After such a late night, he couldn’t stop himself from yawning in the middle of a petition from a newly appointed bann who had gotten caught up in bannorn land dispute. Anora’s brief frown was entirely justified; the bann deserved better than his inattention, and it was hardly her fault that her neighbors were insane. But he remained unrepentant in the face of Eamon’s glares when his mind wandered later during yet another audience with the Antivan ambassador. He’d spent the entirety of yesterday evening throwing the ambassador an elaborate birthday party; did the man really need to take up more of his time this morning? Especially with speeches so convoluted that Alistair had no hope of working out what the man actually wanted. The entire meeting felt like a complete waste of time, and Alistair couldn’t help thinking the conversation would have been much more productive if anyone involved had slept for more than four hours. But mentioning anything so reasonable and straightforward would obviously be horribly inappropriate in the world of politics, and the Maker knew how Eamon would react. So Alistair kept his mouth shut – except for the occasional unavoidable yawn – because he didn’t actually want to give the old man an apoplexy. Or to give foreign dignitaries a front-row seat for a reprise of the familiar childhood lectures on the theme of manners, responsibility, and being-a-credit-to-his-bloodline-even-if-he-certainly-didn’t-look-or-behave-much-like-a-prince-and-Maker’s-blood-boy-can’t-you-ever-stop-slouching. 

It was that kind of morning. 

Meaning it was an even greater relief than usual when he finally got to retreat to his day rooms, take off the stupid heavy mantle he had to wear for formal audiences, and refuse to open the door for anyone he didn’t want to see. Which meant no one was coming in besides Alexia. 

He’d been thinking about her all morning, his mind drifting back over the highlights of the previous evening. The day’s various meetings had no chance of competing with his memories. Alexia’s laugh, the feel of her warm and soft in his arms, her lips and fingers brushing over his jawline. So if his mind had wandered now and then to something more pleasant than land disputes and tariffs, it was hardly his fault. Could anyone really blame him? 

Even though the thought of seeing her had helped him through the morning’s dull moments – which had been most of them in comparison – it turned out that Alistair wasn’t quite prepared for the reality of being in the same room as Alexia. 

When she arrived – exactly at noon, as if maybe, just maybe, she couldn’t wait any longer to see him either – the door swung open just far enough for her to slip into the room. The mere sight of her was enough to destroy what few wits the morning’s meeting had left him. Alexia closed the door behind her and took a hesitant step into the room, and he could only stare. She wore a simpler gown than at the gala, of course, but looked no less beautiful in it, with her hair loosely pinned up and her cheeks slightly pink as she met his gaze with a shy smile. Alistair felt suddenly adrift, having no idea what she was thinking, no idea what to say. He’d risen clumsily to his feet to greet her but couldn’t remember how to speak. 

Alexia’s cheeks colored further as the awkward silence continued. After a few moments, she gave him a wry sort of half-grin. “So, well, hi.” 

Alistair responded with a rueful huff of a laugh. Some pair they made; he hadn’t even been able to manage that much of a conversational opening. “Yes, hi. Right.” Rubbing at the back of his neck, he looked down at the floor, casting about for something to follow up that display of eloquence. 

He caught sight of the slippered toes peeking out from under Alexia’s skirt and gratefully seized onto a potential topic of conversation. “You wore dancing shoes.” He looked back up at her with a raised eyebrow. “Does that mean you’ve decided I’m ready to start learning the volta after all?” 

Alexia tilted her head to one side, and Maker’s breath, he shouldn’t find that simple gesture quite so alluring, but the way the loose strands of hair trailed along the side of her neck nearly robbed him of what little coherent thought he’d managed to scrape together. 

Thankfully, staring at Alexia’s lips meant that his attention was well placed to notice when she started talking, so he could remember to listen, even if he’d forgotten how to talk. 

“There’s not much need to teach you, I think. Not after last night.” Her eyes flicked downwards, and she fidgeted, fingers twisting into a fold of her skirt like she wanted something to clutch at. Looking up at him through her lashes, her expression sincerely bashful rather than artfully coy, she smiled. “Last night was…” Cheeks darkening, she looked away again, her mouth sealing shut as she swallowed whatever she wanted to say. 

“Not a dream?” Alistair suggested, recalling the easy intimacy at her door last night and daring to take a step closer in hopes of recapturing it. 

Alexia’s sudden laugh, warm and genuine, dispelled the lingering awkwardness, and her smile broadened, open and relaxed. She took a step forward, meeting him halfway, hands reaching out unconsciously to take his in a gentle grip. Her hands, calloused from both pen and sword, were warm, and the contact grounded him as she continued, her tone easy and teasing now. “I was going to say ‘perfect’, but yes, it was also not a dream. I think we could even find witnesses to corroborate that if you aren’t convinced.” 

“Too many witnesses, probably.” Alistair frowned at yet another reminder of how public his life had become. In addition to annoying meetings, the morning had held far too many veiled stares, hushed whispers, and muffled laughter. All of which died out suspiciously quickly when he so much as looked at the parties involved. Despite that, he’d managed to overhear enough snippets of conversations that weren’t smothered fast enough to be fairly certain it wasn’t just his usual paranoid self-consciousness making him thinking everyone was talking about him. Or more accurately in this case, about Alexia. 

Guilt twisted his stomach. She shouldn’t be exposed to slander on his account. He had no right to put her through the cruel scrutiny of vicious gossips just because he was lonely and she was… perfect. She deserved better than what he could offer her, life as a mistress under the magnifying lens of the royal court. He had been selfish in considering a relationship with her, thinking of what he needed, not what she ought to have. She deserved better. 

Alistair pulled his hands free and ran one through his hair, ducking his head to break eye contact as he took an excruciating step backwards, away from her and everything he wanted. 

“What’s wrong?” Alexia sounded alarmed by the sudden change. Her weight shifted forward as if she wanted to follow his retreat – reminding him of her posture before a lunge when sparring – and she reached one hand towards him before curling her fingers back, uncertainty in every move. “I’m sorry if…” 

His bitter laugh cut her off. “No, _I’m_ sorry. The things people have been saying about you today…” He shook his head, sighing. “I’m so sorry. I should have realized this would happen. I should never have exposed you to that.” 

He forced himself to look back at her face, surprised by the relieved smile he found there. 

“Is that all?” She chuckled, taking a decisive step forward to catch hold of one of his hands again. “Alistair, I don’t care about the gossip.” 

“Are you sure?” Her fingers meshed with his so perfectly that he couldn’t bring himself to pull away again, even though he knew he should. He needed to make her understand what a bad idea this was, convince her to make the separation he wasn’t strong enough for. “Have you actually heard what they’re saying about you?” 

“Let’s see.” Alexia put her free hand to her chin, tapping one finger on her lips thoughtfully before she began her recitation. “Depending on who you ask… I’m a foreign temptress seducing the king to gain political influence for the benefit of the Free Marches. Or I’m a pawn of the Guerrins because the Chancellor wants to replace the queen with a more biddable, younger consort. Or the queen’s the one who hired me, in order to keep her husband distracted by his infatuation with a pretty young mistress while she quietly steals away complete control over the kingdom.” She grinned mischievously. “I’m particularly fond of that one. It sounds more fun than all of the political scheming everyone else thinks I’m supposed to be doing.” 

Alistair gaped at her, entirely at a loss for how to respond. 

Still smiling, Alexia shrugged. “I’m sure I’ve missed some, but those are the main theories I’ve heard being circulated around court. That was only today, of course. Doubtless there will be more as time goes on.” 

He finally got his voice to work, stumbling over a few inelegant words. “And you don’t mind?” 

She shrugged again. “It’s only gossip.” 

Alistair shook his head, unable to let it go so easily. “I can’t stand that they think about you like that.” 

Her smile softened, and she ran her thumb lightly over his knuckles. “That’s sweet of you. But who really believes gossip?” 

“You still shouldn’t have to…” He frowned. “You just… You deserve so much better.” 

“I don’t care.” Her eyes fixed on his, intent and so serious it nearly took his breath away. “Not about the gossips, not about what you think I ought to have in some perfect world where you aren’t king or aren’t married or have the freedom to duel anyone who spreads unkind rumors about me. People can say what they want; it’s not hurting me.” Alexia gripped his hand tighter. “This is real, and no matter what you think, you’re worth it. I am not giving you up over spiteful gossip, and I am not hiding as if I’m ashamed to be seen with you or embarrassed by caring for you. Regardless of what anyone says, I’m not going anywhere.” 

Her voice faltered as she continued, as if afraid she’d overreached. “Assuming you want me to be here, I mean.” 

Stunned, overwhelmed by her vehemence and the fierce joy rising in his chest, Alistair responded by pulling her close, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight against his chest. “Maker’s breath, yes, of course. You never have to ask about that, because the answer isn’t changing.” 

“Oh, good.” She melted against him with a tiny sigh of relief. 

Alistair could only marvel yet again at how he’d ended up here, holding a beautiful, strong, fierce woman who wanted to be with him enough to defy censure and social conventions, who would accept him even though he couldn’t offer her a proper future. Who honestly, genuinely cared about him. Not his power or his bloodline or his allegedly heroic past. Him. “What did I do to deserve you?” 

Smiling up at him, she answered as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Be perfect.” 

Alistair could barely force words past the lump in his throat. Maker, this woman… “I warned you about saying things like - ” 

Laughing, Alexia preempted him, leaning in to kiss him before he could finish. 

He gladly abandoned forcing his rough voice to work and instead kissed her back. His arms tightened around her waist as, more daring than the night before, she deepened the kiss and stroked her fingers into his hair. The way she melted against him, the way she touched him, the tiny noises of contentment and pleasure in the back of her throat… Everything about her overwhelmed him and left him dizzy, amazed, and utterly joyous. 

When the kiss ended, Alexia nestled her head on his shoulder like she never planned to leave, her warm breath ghosting across his throat and her heart beating strong against his chest. Alistair tried to remember if he’d ever been happier in his life than the past day with her. He couldn’t quite believe yet that this wasn’t a fantasy, that it wouldn’t get taken away from him like every other time he thought he’d found a place to belong. 

But Alexia seemed genuinely committed to being with him, and he pitied the person who tried to challenge her when she’d made up her mind about what she wanted. The court had only seen her on the dance floor, but he’d met her in a sparring yard. He could testify personally that anyone who got in Alexia’s way wouldn’t know what hit them. The idea that he might be something she would choose to defend… He was a very lucky man. 

Alexia raised her head off his shoulder, and her pensive frown gave him a brief moment of concern before it became clear her annoyance wasn’t directed at him. “I should probably write to Meri. I can’t imagine what the stories will be by the time they reach Redcliffe.” 

“I don’t know. Meri might like it if there’s a version where she gets the credit for having arranged all of this.” Alistair kept an arm around her waist, leaving her tucked comfortably against his side as he led her over to his writing desk, unable to stop touching her. Unable to stop smiling. 

Whether or not he could possibly deserve this – deserve her – he wasn’t inclined to waste a second of the free hours he got to spend with her. And maybe it was time to see about getting more than one hour a day free. He grinned at the thought of asking Alexia to put her skills as a merchant’s daughter to work negotiating changes to the royal schedule. Eamon wouldn’t know what hit him. 

 

_I don’t know where this is going on the larger scale, how I’ll navigate the political storm that a royal mistress is sure to draw. But ultimately, it doesn’t matter. I love him. If gossip and scandal are the price of sharing my life with this wonderful, precious man, I will gladly pay that price a hundredfold._

_And I hope that the people who matter will hear the truth. As I count you foremost among them, cousin, I implore you to give my words more weight than whatever rumors you may have heard._

_Alistair – who has hopefully not read more of this letter over my shoulder than this closing – suggests that you are more than welcome, encouraged even, to come to Denerim and see for yourself that I’m not taking advantage of him or the kingdom. I suspect that his true motive may involve avoiding various ambassadorial audiences and treaty negotiations by delegating them to you, but regardless, you are always more than welcome, and we would both be delighted to see you, whenever you can get away from your duties at Redcliffe to come to the capital._

_With sincere affection, your cousin,  
Alexia_


End file.
